


50 Reasons (The Q-Branch Edition)

by KtwoNtwo



Series: 2.5 Holmes' [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, NCIS, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Snippets, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 22,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KtwoNtwo/pseuds/KtwoNtwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snippets (less than 1,000 words) chronicling various events in the life of our favorite Quartermaster.</p>
<p>Intermittently published shorts using the 50 Reasons to Have Sex list from How I Met Your Mother as a prompt generator.  If you are interested in where each snippet fits in the overall 2.5 universe may I direct you to the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2527745">Timeline for 2.5 Holmes</a> and its finely crafted links.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Because You Can't Sleep

It is a truth universally known in MI6 that the Quartermaster has all the best toys. It is a truth not quite so well known that the Quartermaster also has the most comfortable couch in the whole building. This was why, battered from his latest mission too tired to go home and too strung out to sleep, James Bond found himself sneaking into the Quartermaster's office at 03:30 one morning. It was also why Q found 007 sound asleep on the couch when he arrived at 08:23.


	2. Making Up

"You know he's going to kill us," Alex Trevelyan commented as they strode down the corridor.

"I have a plan," James Bond replied as he placed his hand on the biometric reader that opened the door to Q-Branch.

The main room was busy as always with a small bubble of serenity around Q's stand up workstation. Knowing full well what they were facing the two agents invaded that bubble causing Q to look up from his computer.

"Chaos and Destruction," he said softly instead of acknowledging them by name or designation. "I don't suppose there were any pieces left?"

Judging by his body language and tone of voice Q was seriously ticked off but before he could start in on them for their use and abuse of government resources Bond said "I brought you a present." He flourished a thumb drive labeled with the words _Aperture Science_.

Q's eyes went wide, "You didn't?" he breathed.

James merely tossed the drive which Q snagged neatly out of the air. "You are forgiven the destroyed equipment but I still need the paperwork," was what he said but it was clear all his focus was on the thumb drive.

Knowing a dismissal when they heard it the two agents beat a hasty retreat


	3. Breaking Up

"What are you doing?" Q asked Moneypenny as he found Mallory's PA standing in front of the Q-Branch refrigerator looking forlornly into the freezer compartment.

"Looking for ice-cream to requisition," she replied abstractedly.

Q looked her up and down assessing. He wasn't quite as good at deducing things as his half-brother Sherlock but Moneypenny's mental state and the reason for it was obvious.

"Flavor preference?" Q asked.

It seemed like the question took a bit to register but she finally replied, "Mocha."

Q poured a cup of coffee then reached into a cupboard and fished out a squeeze jar of chocolate syrup adding a large amount. He then opened the fridge and handed her two cartons. One was labeled heavy cream and the other was labeled milk. "Come along," he said snagging a couple sachets of sugar off the break-room table as he went past.

Q took his confused co-worker to his private lab. Shortly thereafter he handed her a spoon and a large bowl of Mocha flavored ice cream.

"So," he remarked conversationally after she'd taken a few bites, "What do you want me to do to that jerk who dumped you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q made the ice cream with liquid nitrogen.


	4. A New Position

M, the head of SIS, is widely rumored to be omnipotent at least regarding issues within MI6. Most of the holders of the position managed this feat using a judicious combination of technology and human intelligence with a smattering of personal recognizance. Gareth Mallory had noted it was not much different that getting a decent read on the political infighting when he was an MP. He had found, however, that when it came to Q-Branch only the latter two investigatory tools produced meaningful results. This was why he was standing in the branch bullpen watching a bunch of excited techies attempting to assemble some sort of pipe and table construction. They were happily working, chattering and reading instructions in at least three languages.

Their affectionately dubbed _evil overlord_ , Q, spotted him and came over to explain. "It's an inversion table" he stated as if this was obvious from the growing construction in the corner. "Dr Cornick from medical came by and ranted about ergonomics. The short version, without citations, was that if the branch collectively didn't get new working positions I'd have a rash of back and repetitive motion injuries on my hands. The minions came up with this as a solution."

M raised an eyebrow just as one of the aforementioned minions proclaimed loudly "it's done!"

Q walked over, snapped the cuffs around his legs and inverted himself. A helpful minion handed him his tablet. "Excellent" he proclaimed. "Now was there something you needed M?"

Mallory knew that discretion was often the better part of valor. Nothing really seemed appropriate faced with his branch head talking to his ankles. "No. Carry on." He waved his hand magnanimously and left.


	5. Revenge

Q didn't consider himself a vengeful person. No he only had a strong opinion that actions must be paired with consequences. The stupider the action the more swift and devastating the response needed to be, otherwise ineptitude was contagious.

This particular action, in Q's opinion, required serious retaliation. The MMORPG server on which he preferred to play was somewhat exclusive. You had to hack your way in and import an existing character of over a particular level. That meant the quality of play and caliber of player tended to be quite high. Taking out half one's own party with a well-timed spell and then disappearing was an action worthy of serious consequences. A simple code loop added to the game program would tell Q the next time the miscreant, handle ElfLord, was logged in. Q using his game persona ShadowMaster could then alert any of the other victims so they could take revenge.

Q's plan worked well. Within 30 minutes of logging in ElfLord had been killed at least 6 times. He dropped off but within 10 minutes he was back only this time his character was a transparent ghost. A clever piece of programing that. The avatar was unable to be affected by the players but was visible and could communicate. ElfLord proceeded to apologize, rather eloquently Q thought, to the impacted persons. The explanation in and of itself was interesting. Something about a would be burglar and furniture breakage which resulted in spell misfire but also the computer getting trashed. It sounded very much like a standard legend used to explain agent injuries to family and friends and that made Q curious.

*A week later*

NCIS agent Timothy McGee entered the office on a Thursday morning to find a present waiting on his desk. It was a briefcase. Specifically it was _The Briefcase_. The one containing the prototype missile plans which had been taken from the Marine courier's dead body the day before yesterday. The one everyone and their brother was looking for. It had a red ribbon on the handle with a small florist's card attached. McGee snagged some gloves from his desk, carefully removed the ribbon and opened the card.

_I think you are looking for this. Sorry about the PKs. ShadowMaster._

It took him two minutes to determine that the security cameras had been hacked and that all information around the time when the briefcase was placed on his desk had been corrupted. It took him two hours to determine exactly how the intruder got in and out of the building. Then, after polling all the navy yard cameras, he had a single long range, fuzzy picture of the intruder exiting the building. He was a tall, fit, blond in an impeccably tailored suit who flashed a grin and a salute to the camera before moving out of range. McGee had just put the picture up on the plasma to show Gibbs and the rest of the team when Director Vance strolled through the office.

Vance stopped dead in his tracks staring at the screen. He deliberately removed the toothpick from his mouth and asked the group "Can someone explain to me just what the heck one of MI6's premier agents was doing in our lobby?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you non-gamers PK's are Player Killers. I have been reasonably informed that this is the appropriate term for the behavior described but your mileage may vary and it may be different depending upon the game platform since various games tend to develop their own in-game terminology. If anyone has a better term for that type of behavior please put it in a comment.


	6. Rebound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to Chapter 3 - Breaking Up.

Bill Tanner was in some respects a creature of habit. Regardless of the time of day and how long he had been ensconced in the building Tanner would randomly wander through one department of MI6 or another before he left for home. This particular Friday night it happened to be Q-Branch.

It was quiet. There were no missions currently that required monitoring and the branch was working with a minimal crew. Tanner was thus somewhat surprised when he spotted Q. Q was standing in his office with his hands resting lightly on the keyboard as if he were monitoring an operation. Curious Tanner wandered over and tapped on the glass door. Q gestured a come in.

"I didn't think we had anything going tonight."

"We don't," Q replied. "I'm field testing some new equipment."

"Oh?"

Q looked slightly miffed, "The low light camera is adequate but the directional microphone and the program for parsing out extraneous conversations needs a lot more work."

Tanner moved around behind Q to look at the feed. The live video was from the dining room of a dimly lit restaurant and surprisingly he recognized one of the diners.

"Is that Eve?"

Q stiffened, "Yes."

"You are spying on Eve's date," it wasn't a question. "Your budget will be toast if she finds out," he added as an afterthought

"I'll risk it," was Q's reply.

"Why?"

"Because she's going out with a random bloke she met in the local after the muppet dumped her."

"She's a trained field agent. Don't you think she can handle this herself?"

"People, even trained agents, do stupid things on the rebound." Q's attention was suddenly all on the video feed. "And there it is," he said half to himself as his fingers started flying over the keys.

Tanner wasn't quite sure what exactly Q had seen but his actions started an electrical fire which resulted in the restaurant being evacuated, a small altercation between Moneypenny and her date and eventually Eve stalking off in a huff. Q tracked it all with ease switching video from one CCTV camera to the next. When she was four blocks away from the restaurant Q opened a com line and dialed a mobile.

"Bond" answered a familiar baritone.

"Go pick her up," Q ordered. "I'm sending you the coordinates."

"Do I need to apply chocolate or alcohol to the situation?" Bond asked.

"Probably both 007," Q said with a sigh.

"On it," Bond acknowledged and rang off.

Tanner watched as Bond's Aston Martin slid up beside Monneypenny as she walked down the pavement. She stopped, listened, nodded once then got into the car.

Q nodded in apparent satisfaction and started shutting down his equipment. He turned around then and looked directly at Tanner, "Just doing my part to ensure the smooth operation of the executive branch."


	7. Paratrooping

"He's clear."

"Blow it then."

"We have a chute."

"What do we have in the area for retrieval?"

"Our nearest naval vessel is four hours out. You want me to call them?"

"Not yet. What else is floating around down there?"

"A bunch of private yachts. Looks like he's aiming for one. Yes, he's landed on it."

"Quick, pull the registry info and passenger list."

"Q, I have 007 on the line."

"Patch him through to me."

"I have the package. I'll be on…Skyros…in approximately two hours…no make it three."

"So what color is the bathing suit this time 007?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly modified from the ff.net version to make it a true drabble of 100 words exactly!


	8. Nothing on TV

It started as a discussion between Sherlock and Watson. Sherlock contending that there was never anything worth watching on television and Watson asserting that although the percentage of worthwhile content was small it did indeed exist. Q who had brought the take-away and beer had been vastly entertained by the resulting argument.

It continued a week later during a 12 hour stretch when all four active missions went into waiting mode simultaneously. The discussion about the state of broadcast media ranged over several continents and examples were provided from a variety of nations by agents and handlers alike.

It took on a life of its own when the analysts decided to apply scientific method to the problem. Armed with a set of watchability criteria the denizens of MI6 applied their resources to catalogue the superlative vs the abysmal in as many languages as possible.

Three months later the results were tabulated and compiled. The conclusion was clear and Q sent an E-Mail to Dr. Watson:  _You were correct. Using the attached criteria the ratio of bad to watchable television is 20 to 1 regardless of language or nationality._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if anyone has ever done a study of this IRL?


	9. In a Hotel

Mycroft Holmes did not like to exert himself unnecessarily. He was much more suited to the pleasures of the intellect, as his half-brother Quentin liked to call it, than to the sudden bursts of frenetic activity that his brother Sherlock indulged in when engaged on one of his cases. Travel, inevitably involved a degree of exertion and thus he did not care much for it. Last minute travel required even more exertion and thus was to be avoided if at all possible. Last minute travel without his normal personal assistant was well-nigh intolerable.

Unfortunately the current crisis required not only his personal touch but also his presence. It also occurred during the week when Lisa, his PA who's nom de guerre always began with the letter A and changed at least once a fortnight, was off attending the wedding of her sister. Lisa had provided for coverage and extra security but it was not adequate for the tasks required in this particular situation. This explained why Mycroft was sitting in his hotel room in Paris plotting how to evade his temporary assistant and his security detail so that he could do what was necessary.

Four hours later, task complete, Mycroft was seated in a nice little café enjoying an early supper and amusing himself by deducing information about his fellow diners and the passersby. His eye was drawn by the maître d seating a gentleman across the room. The customer's back was to him but Mycroft's casual glance put him at 5'10", blond, and fit. Ex-military, most likely navy special forces given the way he moved. Rolex. British in nationality, the cut and style of the suit and the way it was worn. Ah, and he was armed. Shoulder holster about the right size for one of the smaller Walther's or a Sig. Mycroft's attention sharpened. As if aware of the scrutiny the gentleman put down his menu, turned slightly in his chair, met Mycroft's eyes and nodded in greeting.

Mycroft returned the nod by inclining his head slightly and returned his attention to the coq au vin, which was excellent. Lisa was indeed the perfect PA. She had obviously planned for this very contingency. There was no one else who knew enough to arrange for his brother and one of the 00's to watch over him. He smiled slightly and made a mental note to increase her salary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft walked in, accosted my muse and demanded part of the story without so much as a by your leave. I understand better now why Sherlock gets annoyed by his high handed tactics.


	10. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to Chapter 5.

Q was intrigued. The explanation provided by ElfLord for the recent debacle in the MMORPG was just a bit too polished. Q wasn't quite sure why but the story had the flavor a professionally created fiction. It sounded like a legend and he'd created enough of those to know one when he saw one. That made him curious.

First thing to do was to pin down ElfLord's physical location. It took a bit to track him through several proxy servers to a flat in Washington DC rented by one Timothy McGee.

Nice hardware. Professional firewalls. Custom, self programed additional protections. The contents were just as interesting. Organized research files on a variety of subjects. So ElfLord was a writer on the side. E-mails from his agent and publisher. Used an anagram for his pseudonym. Cute, Q thought.

Armed with a name and a location a little more digging gave Q the police report. Even with the security redactions it was clear that the burglary was actually an assassination attempt. Now why would a biomedical engineer with an MS in computer forensics from MIT and working for the U.S. Navy be a target? That required a detour to look at McGee's employer's files. Well, well, what have we here. These servers were better secured than the CIA's. Q happily set to hacking and discovered some of the same protections he had encountered earlier were included in the NCIS systems. Mr. McGee had been busy.

Ah. McGee was part of a team led by an ex-marine gunnery Sargent and special forces sniper. Other team members were interesting. Anthony DeNozzo Jr. formerly of the Baltimore PD. That was a name Q easily found in the MI6 files. Apparently Sr. was a hanger on to the rich and famous. A con-man operating not quite in the grey zone. Next was a familiar name Q knew without running a search, Ziva David. One of the offspring of the spider at the head of Mossad. She seems to have escaped her father's web. The supporting personnel were just as interesting. A medical examiner named Mallard. Scottish with intelligence community connections.  The old M's generation. Jumped the pond some 20 years ago. Hmmm, he'd need to look into him later.  Also there was a forensics specialist, Ms Sciuto, the author of that blood spatter study last month that Sherlock had been so taken with.

Perusal of the case files told Q that this team was good, very good. Good enough to make enemies. There was also enough of a collective past to have enemies come out of the woodwork. Satisfied for the moment Q backed out of the servers. With that caliber of personnel this NCIS was clearly an agency to keep an eye on.


	11. It's Raining

Surely the end of the world was approaching. Q watched in growing amazement as piece after piece of equipment was deposited into his In box. Each one was in as pristine condition as they had been when they were issued two weeks ago. He looked then at the agent who was systematically depositing said equipment into the box. James Bond, 007, also seemed to be in perfect condition. His suit was immaculate. No blood, bruising or scratches were visible. Q frowned.

"I expected a celebration," James Bond's voice cut through Q's catastrophic laden musings.

"What you are seeing 007 is complete and utter astonishment," Q replied evenly. "A two week mission and you return all the tech and yourself without a scratch coupled with the fact that it hasn't rained here in that same two weeks makes me wonder if the world is going to vanish in a puff of logic and be replaced with something even more inexplicable."

"Shall I break something for you then?"

"No! Get out of here 007!"

James Bond turned on his heel and left Q branch chuckling the entire way. Q didn't realize that he'd nicked his com back from the box until he heard a familiar voice in his ear some ten minutes later.

"You can cancel the apocalypse Q, it's raining."


	12. Halftime

"Halftime has started. Turn left!"

"In the stairwell. Heading up."

"Careful, No cameras in there."

"Roger. Damn, access door is locked."

"Don't waste bullets it's blocked on the other side."

"Options?"

"Up, rappel down the jumbo-tron onto the maintenance platform."

"Anyone going to notice?"

"You'll have to be fast to beat the crowd reaction."

"OK. What's he got?"

"Modified M40A5"

"Wish me luck."

"Good luck 007."

Crowd noise. A thud. A grunt of pain. Heavy breathing. A shot.

"Target neutralized."

"Damage?"

"….Minimal."

"Stay put 007, medical will be there in 5. Try not to bleed too much on the equipment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A true 100 word drabble!


	13. Exercise

Mycroft Holmes strode through the corridors of power as if he owned them which, to all intents and purposes, he did. He never much liked attending meetings. More often he just summoned the necessary people but occasionally his presence outside the office was required and when it was he arranged everything so that he would arrive exactly on time. His PA, Alice this week, accompanied him of such outings never more than a step off his right shoulder.

Suddenly her ever present Blackberry buzzed. Not pausing she retrieved it from her jacket pocket and perused its message. "Sir," she said her voice pitched to reach his ears alone, "Your meeting has been moved to Mr. Fitzroy's office and put off ten minutes.

Mycroft tipped his head minutely in acknowledgement and took the next right. The unmarked door 20 feet down the hallway lead into a little known stairwell which he used for its intended purpose. Shortly thereafter he was up two floors and transiting a maze of office corridors. Mycroft calculated and adjusted his stride and speed of travel such that he would once again arrive at his meeting exactly on time.

Goal in sight Mycroft was startled to hear Alice's Blackberry buzz again. A quick glance showed that she was annoyed as she looked at the message.

"Sir, the meeting has now been postponed another ten minutes and moved to Conference Room C to accommodate Mr. Norton," was all she said.

Without breaking stride Mycroft called upon his mental map and what he knew about the traffic patterns in the building then proceeded toward another stairwell. This time he went down three floors even though the conference room in question was on the third floor. He knew that the second floor would be less traveled at this time of day thus allowing him to, with a slight adjustment in his rate of travel, to enter the meeting exactly on time even allowing for a few moments to get his breathing under control.

As he exited the stairwell that he had used to return to the third floor Alice's Blackberry gave a soft chime. Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks.

"Sir," Alice was matter of fact, "The Committee on Trade and Transport has not released the conference room so the meeting is back in its original location in ten minutes."

Mycroft held out his hand and Alice gave him her Blackberry. A few moments of investigation confirmed his suspicions. He handed it back then glanced around the empty hallway and located the nearest security camera. He marched up to it stopping close enough that to keep him in view it would need to reposition. It did so.

"While I do not approve of your hacking into my medical records," he addressed the camera, "I understand the sentiment little brother and your message has been received."

Several miles away in the converted WWII bunker that now housed his office Q smiled. That went better than expected he thought as he released the CCTV camera. Before returning to the abstract of the most recent R&D proposal Q idly wondered about the inevitable retaliation when Mycroft discovered the new state of the art treadmill installed in his townhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft attempted to intimidate my muse again. This is the result.
> 
> This work is now caught up to the postings on FF.net. All subsequent chapters will be posted concurrently with posting on that site. 
> 
> BTW: I wrote this long before I saw Season 3 Episode 2. Boy was I surprised at that one scene.


	14. Celebration

_Fit for light duty_. Of all the designations imposed by MI6 medical James Bond despised that one the most. That designation meant that while the damage was primarily healed you were not yet back to 100%. It also meant that you got stuck with the dreaded 3 Rs; Reports, Reviews and Rehabilitation. This was why he was at a desk going over the personal security protocols for all department branch heads. Arbitrarily he'd done the review by age starting with Dr. Fillmore the head of medical as the oldest and concluding with Q as the youngest. Of course it was the latter that proved to be the most surprising.

Q, it seemed from the reports, was a security nightmare. He had a completely irregular schedule but refused to use the agency drivers unless no other transport was available or when he was directly ordered to do so. He walked most everywhere but was highly aware of surveillance techniques both personnel and electronic. The former he had a tendency to ditch quickly and the latter he would ignore unless he was in the mood to hack or otherwise incapacitate it. Even A-list agents had been known to lose him while attempting a tail. On the up side, he did carry his laptop or a tablet and his phone at all times but he was known to routinely disable their tracking capacity. He also had several different panic buttons. Unfortunately he often forgot to carry them with him. As near as Bond could tell the consensus from the last security review was _if we can't track him no one else will be able to either_. Bond wondered just exactly how difficult it was to keep track of one skinny Quartermaster so he assigned himself the task of finding out. Several days later James had to conclude that the answer was _very._

Over the next week Bond discovered that the only effective way to tail Q was loosely with some sort of electronic back up. Since Q would clearly notice a trace program in his phone or other electronics James had gone for the old fashioned approach, he inserted one of the micro tracers into the protective case for Q's phone. It was simple to enlist a little help from the Q branch minions who were rightfully concerned about their boss' personal safety. Thus, he now had a new phone app that could turn the tracer on and off at will.

Sauntering down the pavement in Q's wake early one evening James wondered to himself whether he should suggest that M assign agents to attempt to tail Q as a training exercise. Just as he was considering the pros and cons of this idea he noticed a heavy black sedan that seemed to be pacing Q. All senses suddenly on alert Bond managed to send a snap of the plates to Moneypenny for a trace. The sedan pulled up beside Q who ignored it for half a block before he finally stopped and faced it a look of annoyance on his face. The back door opened and James was surprised that Q got in without a fuss.

Bond quickly engaged the electronic tracker from his phone then hailed a cab. He didn't have the cabbie follow the sedan directly. Any decent driver would spot a cab tail. No he just used the tracking app to keep with a minute or two of Q's location.

Twenty minutes later the tracker indicated that Q was stationary. Apparently he had arrived at the destination. James followed only to discover that the location in question was one of the nicer 5 star restaurants in London. James himself had patronized this particular establishment upon occasion. He wasn't terribly surprised, therefore, when the maître d recognized him and offered him a table.

Upon entering the dining room Bond made a quick assessment noting the relative locations of everyone in the immediate vicinity. Q was sitting across a table from a familiar balding gentleman dressed in an impeccable conservative suit. Q was looking resigned rather than tense so James deduced that he didn’t need an expeditious extraction from his elder brother’s presence at the moment. James’ phone vibrated just then and he glanced at it. The information Moneypenny had provided, James’ own identification of Q’s dinner companion plus the fact that he had also recognized one of the diners sitting at another table told him all he needed to know about the situation.

A gorgeous female in a black frock was presumably dining alone however given the number of diners her location was a bit too close to that of Q and his companion. James made a detour. She put down her menu next to a blackberry and watched him approach. He noted approvingly that she was intentionally keeping her hands carefully within his view.

"Nice to see you again," he greeted her without formality, "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," she replied indicating the chair with an incline of her head.

James seated himself and accepted his menu. Before he could speak, however, he noticed that his new companion had focused her attention on the doorway. A tall thin gentleman with a long nose, high cheekbones and a familiar mop of unruly hair swept into the room heading directly for the table at which Q was currently seated. The gentleman was none other than the infamous Sherlock Holmes.

"This is going to be interesting," she murmured, "I didn't think he would come.  Family celebrations are so not his style."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated thanks to Aelaer who found a timeline inconsistency.


	15. Childhood Bed

Quentin Nigel Depford Holmes who most often these days answered to his code designation of Q, trudged up the grand staircase wondering why the heck Mummy had insisted on a formal reading of her will at the family estate. He had always seen her as an immensely practical woman. Hard as nails about rules when needed but equally willing to bend them if necessary to get the job done. So why had she added a codicil to her will mandating this archaic tradition? He’d seen the document. She’d added it mere months after succeeding to the head of MI6. She’d obviously had a reason but the purpose eluded him.

Her death in Scotland had thrown him for an emotional loop. He was still attempting to deal with his feelings of guilt. If he’d not hooked that laptop into the server then Silva wouldn’t have escaped. If he had been faster on the video search then Bond would have caught him in the tube. If he hadn’t laid the trail so well. If he’d positioned the backup teams closer. If, if, if, bloody if!

Quentin opened the door to his old room. He hadn’t been back since he had spent two weeks as Quentin Holmes (unassuming rich lay about) making Nigel Holmes (university student cum hacker extraordinaire) deceased and assuming the identity of Quentin Depford, PhD candidate . He flipped on the light and looked in for the first time in years. His eyes focused on the bed. It hit him like a freight train. She really had loved him.

He’d never really understood her motivations for taking him in when his mother had died. He’d been three and a half. She could have let foster services take him since there was no official record that his father was Sigler Holmes, but she somehow had deduced his very existence then swept in giving him not only a home but two brothers. His father’s suicide in the pear orchard had served to take what she had put together by decree and solidify it into family. His formal adoption when he was 8 had seemed at the time to be merely a piece of paper acknowledging what had already been decided years before. Despite the lack of DNA she had been his Mum and he missed her.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there frozen in the doorway when he heard footsteps coming along the hall. Sherlock his mind identified. His brother came to a stop beside him. Quentin could feel his regard and heard his soft huh after he assessed the situation. Not saying anything Sherlock grabbed his hand and tugged him down the hall. Quentin, not resisting, trailed along after just like he had when they had been little. He expected to end up in Sherlock’s room but no Sherlock towed him further down the hall straight into Mycroft’s suite.

Mycroft was being casual which for him meant he’d ditched his suit jacket and was sitting in his shirt sleeves drinking whisky from a tumbler before the fireplace in his sitting room. He rose to his feet when he and Sherlock entered. Mycroft didn’t say anything but then again he didn’t have to. He indicated his welcome with a nod then went to the sideboard and poured another two glasses of whisky from a decanter. Sherlock collected a glass then collapsed into one of the other chairs by the fireplace. Quentin plopped down on the floor and leaned against the chair reaching up to accept the glass Mycroft offered him. He sniffed at the amber liquid. It was her favorite.

They sat together and stared at the fire then, each lost in their own remembrances. From time to time one of them would speak. A single word or short phrase would be dropped into the silence; a testament to their shared experiences of her.

By the wee hours of the morning the tumbler of whisky was mostly gone and Quentin had an epiphany. Mycroft was still in his chair, Quentin leaning against his leg with Sherlock’s head in his lap and they were as comfortable with each other as they ever had been, even as children. This night, this experience, this was the reason. Her last gift; the gift of family unity.


	16. Prom Night

Mission 15250B Transcript Excerpt  
Participants: 007, Q Via SMS

007: _On station. LA in summer is hot even at night._

Q: _Why are you texting?_

007: _Dog ate my earpiece._

Q: _Do I want to know?_

007: _No._

Q: _Site Rep?_

007: _What's a Prom?_

Q: _Formal dance for American high schools. Why?_

007: _There's one going on underneath me in the club house._

Q: _Having problems hearing?_

007: _No, just not terribly keen on the music._

Q: _Suck it up. Should be clear by 0030._

007: _Company._

007: _2 girls now on roof. Nice dresses and good looking too._

Q: _Focus. What's your location?_

007: _I'm on top of AC unit._

Q: _What are girls doing on roof?_

007: _Having a discussion about lines of sight and silenced sniper rifles._

Q: _?!?_

007: _Now moved on to methods of smuggling said sniper rifle into a public place. I've used everything they've come up with so far at one point or another._

Q: _?!?_

007: _Now discussing dance, Karate and wrestling moves. Nice kick sequence demonstration._

Q: _?!?_

007: _Seems to be related to a writing project. They are heading down now._

Q: _Oh._

007: _By the way, what's A-O-3?_


	17. Didn't Want to Move the Car

"...Iss Q."

"Brother dear, can you tell me why the entire traffic division of the MET is tied up in South London this morning?"

"Because, Mycroft, *yawn* I promised Bond he wouldn't have to move his car until at least noon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first 3 sentence fiction!


	18. Lingerie

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon in Q branch or at least it was until 004 came barging in with her evaluation of the latest bit of gear we had sent out to the field with her for testing. The review was delivered in the bullpen at maximum volume complete with multilingual profanity. Q, our erstwhile evil overlord, listened calmly to the ranting while making occasional notes on his tablet. When there was a pause in the diatribe he made affirmative _I’m listening_ noises. It took twenty minutes before 004 finally yelled “Damn it Q underwire DOES serve a structural purpose!” and stormed out of the branch.

The resulting silence was deafening. We all watched as Q gently picked up the offending piece of gear and placed it the reject bin. He then addressed the room at large, “That, dear minions, is the reason why Q branch should not attempt to weaponize lingerie.”


	19. Victory in Sport

Being Sherlock Holmes’ flat mate meant that I was used to being bewildered on a regular basis but nothing really prepares someone for the state of confusion engendered when all three Holmes brothers are in the same room at the same time.

Quentin had arrived about 1900 with takeaway Indian. Ever since he’d been kidnapped he had been showing up randomly at the flat about once a month or so. Sometimes he’d just drop something off, other times he’d bring food or alcohol or both and stay for several hours. I hadn’t quite figured out whether he was doing it for some purpose of his own or to reassure Sherlock that he was alive and unharmed. This particular night he simply wandered in, braved the biohazard zone that was our kitchen, and made up three plates. One he plopped down on the table where Sherlock was examining something under his microscope and one he handed to me. He then took the third, snagged my laptop and curled up on the sofa all without saying a word to either of us.

O.K. It was going to be like that was it? I resigned myself to an evening of Holmesian sibling conversation where the occasional word or gesture was equivalent to an hour’s worth of discourse. Of course, I would have no clue about what was going on for the next few hours. Truth be told however I found that I really didn’t mind the evenings when this happened because Quentin inevitably updated my computer while he was not talking to Sherlock.

Mycroft walked in at 2045, his trademark umbrella in one hand and a file folder clutched in the other. Both Quentin and Sherlock ignored him. I, on the other hand, started to get up out of my chair but he waved me off saying, “No Dr. Watson, I doubt I’ll be here long enough for tea.” He then strode across the room and deposited the file folder at Sherlock’s other elbow opposite the empty plate.

“Hmph,” Sherlock grunted without looking up.

“Must I remind you brother that you owe me a case of my choice?”

Sherlock looked up at him then with an expression of acute annoyance. “If it’s not too boring we will be even then.”

“Agreed.” Mycroft turned on his heel and started for the door. He didn’t make it before Quentin spoke up.

“Speaking of owing things, you need to pay up too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Jenny Jones.”

Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks and looked blank for a moment. Then he sighed. “It will be on your desk in the morning,” he told Quentin as he left.

I sat there stunned for a minute or so before asking the room at large, “Could someone please explain what that was all about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to Great Britain’s Jenny Jones for winning Olympic bronze in Woman’s Slopestyle Snowboarding in Sochi. First UK medal on snow. 
> 
> I wasn't planning to use Watson's POV in this but he asked my muse so politely.


	20. In an Airplane

"You want me to go where?"

Q's voice which was normally calm cool and collected even in the most dire of circumstances had a distinct note of panic in it. This caused both R and 007 to look up at him from their collaboration on the placement of obstacles for the latest new agent training exercise.

"But it's perfectly safe to…" Q continued only to be cut off by whomever he was talking to. "Have you…" Q attempted again to get a word in edgewise and was again cut off. This time he merely listened then finally said in a very tight voice "Yes Sir" and cut the connection.

Q shut down his workstation in the bullpen and stormed past them heading for his office. James heard him muttering something about black beaches, telephone poles and porcupines. Bond looked at Shirley one eyebrow raised in silent question. She waited until Q's office door had slammed before answering.

"M is apparently sending Q somewhere by plane," she remarked.

"I thought Q doesn't fly?"

"Oh he'll fly, he just does so badly."

James was curious, "How badly?"

"The one and only time Boothroyd sent him somewhere by air he got the job done but when he came back he looked like hell, disappeared into the labs and we barely saw him for a two full weeks. Station T was concerned enough that they called to make sure he'd made it back. From what they said he'd arrived looking awful and he'd been sick the three days he was there."

"Oh. That doesn't sound good."

"To my knowledge he hasn't flown anywhere since. I pity the poor sod that ends up on his protection detail for this one."

Bond's mobile buzzed. He looked at it then remarked "Well, if this is what I think it is then that poor sod is going to be me."

00Q/00Q/00Q

Bond relaxed in the first class seat with his arm protectively around his sleeping Quartermaster. Q had been visibly nervous in the airport getting more agitated the closer they got to boarding. He'd walked down the gangway pale and resigned like a man going to his own execution. By the time Bond had maneuvered him into his seat Q was clearly not cognizant of anything much external. Given that, it hadn't been all that hard to spike Q's tea with the sedative that he'd obtained from Dr. Cornick in medical. Q's state of anxiety practically ensured that when the medication started to kick in it did so suddenly with very little advance warning. The look Q gave him when he realized what had happened was half outrage and half grateful. James had forestalled any diatribe by grabbing Q's hands and settling the slender man against his chest. Q made a small startled noise but didn't resist. Bond wasn't surprised. He knew, courtesy of Moneypenny, that Q responded well to touch when highly stressed. He also knew from his own observations after his brother's fake suicide and during the kidnapping rescue that Q would not initiate such contact preferring to withdraw and hide either physically or mentally. It had taken a few minutes but Q calmed down, relaxed against him and fell asleep. With a bit of luck, James thought, he'd stay that way until they landed in New York.


	21. Not in a Rut

“Hey Spider! He’s locked down the com room.”

“Good that means the op has started. Where’s R?”

“She left an hour ago.”

“Ok gather the troops and we’ll meet in Lab 3. Remember to bring the popcorn.”

“I’m sorry we won’t have audio. I couldn’t tap the coms without our evil overlord noticing.”

“No worries George, video should do just fine to see the great 007’s seduction style in action.”

_(10 minutes later – Lab 3)_

“And he’s in the door.”

“The mark is at the bar. Boy has she got nice legs.”

“He’s looking around. He’s seen her. A glance, eye contact and a smile! Here we go people.”

“There’s the martini order, shaken not stirred.”

“Introducing himself, small talk, looks like he’s starting his move.”

“Hey guys, look at his body language. That’s new.”

“Yeah, that’s different. Really different. What’s he doing?”

“Showing her something on his phone.”

“Why are you laughing Regina?”

“Regina?”

“I think Monneypenny just won the office pool!”

“What? Which pool?”

“The 00Q pool.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Bond just told the mark that he and Q were an item and showed her a picture. She said he looked nice and Bond said he was nice.”  
“How can you tell?”

“Congenital hearing loss in one ear remember. I read lips.”

“Sorry guys, the pool is still going. I just looked up the rules. Pictures or it didn’t happen.”

“That doesn’t count as pictures Spider?”

“Nope. Both parties in the same room in some sort of PDA that is definitely not assignment related.”

“Rats, Moneypenny will be disappointed then.”

“She’s still not out of it. She has a couple of guesses later on.”

“Well that was a waste of time. He got what he needed with no seduction required.”

“We’ll just have to keep our eyes open for another observational opportunity.”

“By the way George, remember to undo your work on the video feed tonight so Q doesn’t find it tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

_Excerpt: Mission Log 153756_   
_Participants: 007, Q_

007: Good catch with the background on the brother.

Q: All part of the service 007.

007: So when am I leaving for Vienna?

Q: You have 6 hours. Specifics are on your phone. I’ll be back on the coms when you get there.

007: Heading home?

Q: Yes. It’s only fair to give the minions time to disassemble their video tap.

007: Do you think they learned anything?

Q: Hopefully something about adjusting the approach to fit the job and not getting into a rut.


	22. Stress Relief

A cheer went up from one side of the Q branch bullpen denoting the end of another in the intermittent series of team building exercises that were now known as simply game night. Q had started what was fast becoming a MI6 wide institution as a method to get the engineers to work better with the programmers. The concept was simple. Every so often Q branch would get together choose sides and play a game of some sort. There were a few rules. The game had to be able to be played as teams and the losing side would make suggestions for the game to be played the next time. Q, in his role as benevolent evil overlord and referee, would set out the rules for the particular game and assign handicaps as necessary to make the sides even. 

They had started with card and board games but then the 00s had become involved. Now the games were sometimes physical. There had been the marshmallow gun fight where everyone with over a certain marksmanship score had to wear 3d glasses. The game of freeze tag in the gym with the ankle weight handicap had also been interesting. Surprisingly the agents didn’t always go for the more physical games. There had been the game of multi-lingual suggestive scrabble where any word played had to be either obscene or accompanied by a suggestive comment. One of the strangest, suggested by 006 of all people, had been the night of brainteasers and riddles. All in all game night was fast becoming a major stress reliever that didn’t involve being horizontal or large amounts of alcohol.

Once a game night had been announced there was a scramble for sides. Sometimes it went by age; other times by classification or department and on occasion it was random. This particular night had been Q Branch vs. Agents with Monneypenny and Tanner thrown in on a LAN game that was a cross between capture the flag and a medieval MMORPG. Q branch had won despite having a programing handicap that made reaction times on their computers slower. The agents were now in a huddle discussing what to suggest as the challenge for the next time.

Q watched over the proceedings from his workstation and wondered what the agents would come up with this time. It didn’t take long at all for the huddle to break up and 007 who appeared to be acting as the agent spokesman to walk over to Q.

“Laser tag in the tunnels,” was all he said.


	23. Shaved Legs

“I’ve often wondered,” Shirley said to her companion as they watched James Bond calmly walk out of Q branch after having received an epic berating from the Quartermaster on the proper use of equipment, “what it would take to put a look of horror on that man’s face.”

Moneypenny smiled. “Tell him you just used his straight razor to shave your legs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 3 sentence fiction.


	24. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to Chapter 14

From time to time most people have inklings or hunches; those inexplicable urges to be somewhere, do something. For the large majority those impulses are just figments of subconscious wants and desires but for me they are something else and I listen to them carefully. This was why I found myself in one of London’s better restaurants enjoying the ambiance and a nice glass of French Cabernet Sauvignon. Regardless of Ludwig and Feliciano’s protestations Francis’ folk still make the best wine in the world overall although Alfred’s Californian contingent may eventually surpass them, but I digress. I had no idea as to why my intermittent precognition had led me to this spot until I spotted a familiar figure sitting across the dining room.

Mycroft Holmes looked better than he had in a few years. He had dropped some weight and gained some muscle tone. I wondered if his PA, Lisa, had finally succeeded in getting him to stick to an exercise program. She was sitting several tables away, close enough to be useful in case of emergency but far enough to allow Mycroft privacy of conversation. I assumed that his presence here was for a meeting of some sort.

My salad had just arrived when I noted Quentin Homes, the youngest of the three brothers, entering. He looked a little annoyed as he marched over to his brother’s table. They exchanged a few words before he resignedly sat down. This was getting interesting. Quentin appeared to be less strung out than usual. MI-6 must be quiet enough for him to get a proper amount of sleep. No I mentally amended as I watched James Bond enter the room a few minutes later and inveigle a seat at Lisa’s table; his most problematic 00 was not on mission.

The real surprise arrived as my salad was cleared in preparation for the entree, Sherlock swept in with a dramatic swirl of that trademark coat of his. Quentin rolled his eyes as his middle brother plopped gracefully down into the third chair. No not a meeting, a family get together then of some sort. I wondered what momentous occasion had managed to get these three quasi-voluntarily into the same room at the same time. In fact, I hadn’t seen them all together since the day they stood at the foot of Olivia’s grave.

My entree arrived just then and I devoted my attention to it. The food was just too good here not to pay it proper homage. However, to assuage my rampant curiosity I kept a surreptitious eye on the brothers. They appeared to be, well enjoying might not be exactly the right word, a bit of sibling banter. It didn’t seem to be denigrating into insults or bad feelings this time either. For some reason at least Sherlock and Mycroft appeared to be on their best behavior.

I ordered desert just to give me some cover to continue watching. As it was I almost missed it. Mycroft handed Sherlock what looked like a thumb drive. Sherlock then fished something from his pocket, fiddled with it a moment and put it on the table in front of Quentin. From a distance it appeared to be an ornate puzzle box and knowing the Holmes brothers I would bet that the thumb drive was now safely nestled inside. It was lucky that one of those flukes in acoustics happened just then and the ambient noise level dropped just enough so I could hear Mycroft say “Happy birthday little brother” and Sherlock add in “From the both of us.”

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

James had relaxed a bit once it became obvious that Q and his brothers were not about to have a domestic in the middle of the restaurant. Lisa proved to be a charming and articulate dining companion. It didn’t hurt that they were able to covertly exchange some very interesting tidbits of gossip regarding a number of mutual acquaintances in politics and the intelligence community.

All in all it was shaping up to be an uneventful evening when James’ attention was drawn to another diner who had finished his meal and was preparing to leave. He was a rather unassuming gentleman of medium height with short blond hair and a somewhat messy fringe. He looked to be in his late twenties with a sharp chin dressed in a suit. Since there was nothing really at all remarkable about him Bond was not sure just what had caught his eye until the man moved. His bearing was that of someone who had gone armed most of his life even if he was not carrying a weapon at the present. His stance and walk just screamed military with serious combat training. The gentleman paused at the door, as if aware of the scrutiny, and turned to look back into the room. He met Bond’s gaze directly, gave a slight smile and dipped his chin minutely in acknowledgement. Their eyes met for only a moment and he was gone out the door.

One thing that had saved James Bond’s life time and time again was his highly honed instincts about people. There was something about him which hinted of old secrets and hidden knowledge. James made a mental note to see what exactly he could find out about that young man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Kirkland just can’t keep away from the Holmes brothers but I don’t think that they are the people he most has to worry about figuring out just who and what he is. While most of the snippets in this collection are not chronological and not set at any particular time in my 2.5 Holmes ‘verse this one and Reason 14 are specifically set as occurring sometime between Brothers Three and QEF. 
> 
> Thanks to Kenoria over at fan fiction.net for a quick beta read on this one. Yes dear, this is indeed related to another plot bunny that is hopping around asking to be written.


	25. “Let’s get it on” is Playing

As many people in the espionage community will admit sometimes the best intelligence is obtained simply by being in right place at the right time. James Bond, 007, was heading for the MI6 gym to get in a workout. Alec Trevelyn, 006, was on his way to Q branch to turn the equipment from his most recent mission. They met completely by accident in one of the lower level halls and after spending a few minutes catching up they both noticed a low level thumping sound that seemed to be somewhat out of place. Unusual sounds in the basements of MI6 were not uncommon especially since Q branch as well as the firing range was located there. Such sounds also meant something interesting was going on so it was unsurprising that the two 00’s decided to investigate.

They tracked the sounds to one of the smaller training rooms. From outside the locked door it was clear that the thumping was in fact the base line to some rock song. The thumping stopped and they clearly heard a female laugh.

After an exchange of glances James put his hand on the biometric sensor and quickly typed in his override code. The door remained locked which was in and of itself quite interesting. Only branch heads and above could lock out a 00’s override code. So what was a branch head doing in a training room with music? James looked at Alec who grinned and extracted one of Q branch’s patented electronic lock picking devices from his pocket. It was a simple matter to apply the device to the keypad and let it do its thing. The music started up again just as the light on the lock turned green.

The two agents were completely unprepared for the sight that greeted them when they opened the door. Q was standing barefooted in the middle of the room, hands on hips looking both disgusted and utterly disheveled. Moneypenny was collapsed against one of the walls shaking with quasi-suppressed laughter. _“Let's get it on, oh baby; Lets get it on, let's love baby; Let's get it on, sugar; Let's get it on, woah…”_ the music crooned as Q whirled about to glare at the door. The look of shock and embarrassment on his face when he realized just who had interrupted was priceless.

Before either agent could think to retreat Q’s expression quickly changed into an evil grin. “Get in here you two!” he ordered in his best _do it now or I’ll ruin your credit rating_ tone of voice. “At least one of you ought to be able to teach me how to dance to this stuff so I don’t muck up my best-mate-from-Uni’s wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are at the half way point. Hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far. Reviews and kudos feed my muse so feel free to provide a comment if you are so inclined.


	26. Celebrating Life (After A Near Death Experience)

Moneypenny walked into Q’s room in medical and glanced at the bed. Q wasn’t there. Neither was his IV stand. In the loo then? She looked at the door to the en suite. It was slightly ajar. She started to move toward it when the room’s door moved. She whirled about in time to see James Bond enter with a takeaway cup of what smelled like Earl Grey in his hand.

“Where’s Q?”

“I thought,” she jerked her head at the en suite door “but it doesn’t appear that he’s there.”

Bond set down the tea, strode two steps to the door and cautiously peeked in. “Crap. He’s pulled one of my tricks,” he said as he pushed the door open revealing an IV stand. “He sent me out for decent tea and then he escapes the medical bloodsuckers.” Bond sounded a bit envious.

“He can’t have gone far. He was still rather unsteady on his feet earlier today.”

“Given that he almost died twice getting rid of that horrid drug cocktail he was dosed with, he’s made quite a bit of progress.” Bond looked a little chagrined. “I didn’t expect him to attempt something like this however.”

“We really should locate him. M will have both our hides if we let him disappear again.” Moneypenny reached for her phone.

“M I can deal with. It’s Dr. Watson’s wrath if he sets himself back that concerns me.”

Moneypenny simply started dialing. After a few conversations she looked at Bond, “Security says he hasn’t left the building.”

“That’s not definitive. Half the time I escape from Medical security says I haven’t left the building!”

Moneypenny thought for a moment then said, “I’m thinking the labs in Q branch first, then we can spread out.” She marched around James and out the door with a look on her face that did not bode well for Q when and if she found him.

James started in her wake but paused, then grabbed the cup of tea. He might be able to use it to lure Q out of whatever hole he had secreted himself in.

Twenty minutes later the executive and 00 had traced the elusive quartermaster to a room in one of the sub-levels of Q branch that technically didn’t exist. The sign next to the door read _Storage 9 ¾_. What was also interesting was that there was a biometric scanner under the sign. Bond put his hand on the scanner and was pleasantly surprised when the door clicked open.

As they pushed it open the unmistakable sounds of a video game wafted out from the room beyond. It had a pounding rock score laced with explosions and simulated gunfire. The door opened onto what looked like a gamer’s wet dream. Three large LCD screens were hung on movable brackets on the wall. There was a large set of shelves with several heavily modified game console systems as well as what looked like a very sophisticated PC. There was a portion of the shelves which appeared to be dedicated to game controllers of every size and shape imaginable. There were a number of ergonomically designed chairs as well as a desk on wheels. In a corner was a pile of what looked like bean bag chairs. Sitting tipped back in a _zero gravity_ style chair with a game controller in his hands was Q. His IV bag was secured to the top of the chair with a strip of duct tape. He didn’t acknowledge their presence. To all appearances he was completely absorbed in the game. James knew better. He looked at Moneypenny and then simply took the lid off the takeaway tea.

It was only a matter of moments and the game went into a pause mode. Q kicked the chair into a more upright position and spun it around to face them holding out one hand for the tea. Bond handed it to him. “Yes?” Q asked.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” Moneypenny exploded.

Q grinned, “Playing Halo.”

“This morning you could barely walk!”

“And?”

Moneypenny just glared at him. Finally she replied “Well I’d better go and call off the man hunt and let your medical team know where you are so they can fetch you when you collapse.” She turned on her heel then and slammed out of the room.

After the door had closed Bond pulled up a chair. “So, you were in the mood for a little gratuitous violence after your recent experience?”

“It was either this or cuddle up to the servers for a while. I figured this was more productive.”

“Psyc will have a field day with that. Want some help?”

“Sure. Backup is always appreciated 007.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place immediately after QEF.


	27. Celebrity

Q was reading a flagged article from one of the on-line celebrity gossip tabloids when the alert from passport control went off. Q clicked on it immediately. The alert was a welcome distraction from the badly written article about the latest Benedict Cumberbatch sighting. Anything was better than the drivel he had just been slogging through. Curious, from the color it was one on his personal list of notables. He wondered just who had been scanned into or out of the country.

Q branch kept track of all sorts of people, many of them celebrities, due to the chaos that they left in their wake. All the paparazzi and assorted entourages was excellent cover for a wide variety of intelligence related activity. Unfortunately such tracking also meant an inordinate amount of work to keep up on the latest and greatest doings of the rich and infamous. This, despite all attempts to fully automate the process, meant a certain amount of perusing less than stellar media offerings on an ongoing basis. Since Q's most recent request for an analyst had been denied, every member of Q branch including Q himself had been adding to the _celebrity doings database_ at least once a week to spread the pain around and avoid gossip overload.

It was Timothy McGee. NCIS Agent, published author, hacker, and gamer known as ElfLord had cleared customs at Heathrow. So what was he doing in London? A few clicks and Q had the information. His traveling companion, Ms. Scuito, also of NCIS, was attending a forensic conference to present her most recent blood spatter analysis techniques. It appeared that McGee was acting as some combination of dogsbody and security for Ms. Scuito. According to their conference schedule they had a free evening on Thursday.

Q quickly typed out a text. _Hey, dinner Thursday? ~ Shadowmaster._

He received an expeditious reply. _Would love to but working. ~ ElfLord._

_You can bring your co-worker. I know some people attending the conference who would love to meet both of you._

_I'll get back to you._ Was the reply followed shortly thereafter by, _We seem to be free, but then again I suspect you knew that._

Yes.

_When and where?_

_Angelos, 19:00. It's near Regents Park._

_How will we recognize you?_

_Reservation will be in name of Harry Quinn._

_Thanks, look forward to meeting you in person._

Q put his mobile down and turned back to finish up that atrocious article when his phone chimed once more. It was another message from McGee. _Facial recognition or passport control flag?_

Q texted back, _Guess_.

He was not disappointed by the reply. _Either way is impressive. That was less than 10 minutes._


	28. Time an Egg

**Mission: 357682 (Transcript Excerpt)**  
 **Participants: Q, 007**

007: Q, How long does it take to soft boil an egg?

Q: Depends. What method?

007: There are different ways to boil an egg?

Q: Yes, Several.

007: Explain.

Q: The most common are to start with the egg in cold water or to place the egg into water that is already boiling.

007: Time for the latter?

Q: 1.5 minutes give or take.

007: And how long to bring the water to boiling?

Q: Approximately 12 minutes. Why is this relevant?

007: I've retrieved the package but I had to duck into a storage closet to avoid the cook.

Q: And?

007: If I don't want to be seen I can't move until he's out of the kitchen delivering the breakfast tray.

Q: So you want to know how long the wait will likely be.

007: Yes.

Q: Oh, you are in the Austrian Alps. Do you know the altitude?

007: 1930.

Q: You are going to be stuck a bit longer then.

007: Why?

Q: Water boils at 94 at that height. The egg will take 4.28 minutes and it's 19 minutes for the water to boil.

007: This was supposed to be a quiet in and out. No indications of entry or tampering to be left.

Q: You are going to miss your exit window. The shift change for the perimeter guards is in 15. Hmm. I'll have to see what I can come up with for a distraction.

007: Make it subtle Q. I don't want to have to note in my AAR that the mission objective was blown because we couldn't properly time an egg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you on the U.S. side of the pond the altitude is 6,430 ft. and the temperature is 201.2 f.


	29. Avoiding Work

It was a Thursday afternoon and Q had thought he’d managed to escape the confines of MI6 undetected until he realized that he’d acquired a tail. Apparently leaving your workstation on but locked down, implying to the most notorious gossips in the building that you were going to ensconce yourself in your private lab for the foreseeable future and sneaking out a seldom used emergency exit after disabling the alarm was not enough to avoid having certain of your co-workers using you to practice their tradecraft. In fact, now that he thought about it, such incidents had been increasing in frequency over the last two weeks.

It was only a matter of minutes before Q ditched his would be stalker. Unfortunately in the process of dumping his first tail he acquired another two agents discretely shadowing his movements. They seemed to be working in tandem and were relatively good. It took him a quarter hour to shake them loose. That task accomplished he headed for the tube. Half way home he discovered that he was now being tailed by a team of four A-list agents one of which he knew for a fact was on a training rotation. This was getting ridiculous. All he’d wanted was to run home, change and get to the restaurant before his guests arrived. Playing cloak and dagger games with a bunch of agents on a training exercise was definitely not on the to do list for his evening. This called for drastic measures.

It only took a few keystrokes and he had disabled all tracking capacity on his phone. He then proceeded to lose the four agents in the most embarrassing manner possible. He left one standing on the platform in the Tube with a transit officer writing out an ASBO. He discouraged another by strolling through a timed fountain that went off suddenly completely drenching his pursuer. The next one he managed to get accused of shoplifting in a store that sold sex toys and he left the final agent standing forlornly on the other side of a busy street after an inexplicable out of sequence signal change. All in all not a bad 45 minutes worth of effort and he still had time to prepare for dinner.

Q was only two blocks from his flat when a familiar figure fell into step beside him. “Bond,” he curtly acknowledged the agent’s presence.

“Q” Bond replied in the same tone.

“I suppose I have you to thank for the sudden interest in my movements by certain A-list agents fulfilling their annual training mandate?”

“I may have mentioned something in passing about a bottle of Glenfiddich 18 and that you were a hard man to track within earshot of the instructor.”

Q sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did it ever occur to you that upon occasion some people might wish to avoid work all together for an evening?”

“Yes, I was counting on it. You managed to evade their best efforts in record time.” Bond smirked at him.

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond, “Given the fact that I did all the work on this I think you owe me.”

“Would half interest in an 18 year old bottle of scotch suffice?”

“Admirably 007.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place soon after Chapters 24 and 27.


	30. She Wants To

“No.”

The tone in the Quartermaster’s voice as it wafted out of the executive suite made James Bond stop dead in his tracks. He could hear Moneypenny’s voice reply softly but couldn’t quite make out the words. Carefully, with all the stealth the spy could manage, he moved up to just shy of the open doorway.

“…and I have it on relatively good opinion, two of them in fact, that you are competent,” Moneypenny stated.

“For a given level of competence that includes not tripping on one’s own feet or falling on one’s arse,” Q grumbled back at her. “Surely one of the agents could do better.”

“Do I need to remind you that you owe me?”

“OK,” Q said in a resigned tone of voice, “I just want to know why you are dragging me as your plus one to a function where you expect me to dance with you.”

“Because I want to,” was Moneypenny’s reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A direct result of the events documented in Chapter 25.


	31. It's Cold

The last two turns confirm the hypothesis, he’s heading for the Westminster Bridge. Syncopation. John’s footfalls. He always keeps up despite the fact that his shorter stride means he takes 1.3 steps to every one of mine. Faster way to the bridge? Second alleyway, up the fence, through the 1st floor of the car park, down onto the bins. John’s still with me. No hesitation. Breathing steady, no limp, using his right hand to pull up. NSAID’s and ice when we get done then.

Fredericks is fast. Pick up the pace. Rate of gain indicates within grabbing distance on far end of the bridge. Blast! He's attacking not continuing to run.  It's always something.  Use an arm block. Punch. Blocked. He’s trained. Multiple styles. MMA? Kick at a knee. Take him down. Too fast he’s got a grip on my throat. He’s pressing. Vision tunneling. Losing consciousness in three, two…Huh? Oh. John. Pain. Knees on pavement. Breathe.

Punch hitting flesh. Good John. Grunts. Scuffing of shoes on pavement. Grappling. Breathe. John fights mostly silent, intentionally suppressing his noise. Not standard army training. Interesting. Fredricks grabs for a pocket, flash of steel. Breathe.

“Knife!”

Breathe. Set foot. Breathe. He’s got ahold of John. Knee. Elbow. There’s an opening John take it! John’s stunned. Frederick’s going to…no! Shit!

Temperature range of the Thames in January, 4.8 to 18.5, probably on the lower end tonight. Loss of dexterity in 5 minutes, exhaustion in 30. Factor in probable concussion, wind chill, current, time to make the bank and be able to exit the water 35 minutes. 32% chance of survival without help. A bit not good. Stop to incapacitate Fredericks, 42 seconds. 58% chance of survival. Unacceptable. Ignore Fredericks. 87% chance of survival. Better. Push off, two steps, over the railing, angle dive to intersect where the current will put him.  93%.  Need to work to up that.

Damn the water is cold.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

James Bond entered the Quartermaster’s office carrying Q’s scrabble mug full of earl grey tea. Little more than ten minutes earlier the Quartermaster had been deep in what the minions had taken to calling his _coding trance_ and had not even noticed the agent snitching his mug. Now Q was in full on _mission mode_ directing what sounded like a unit of the London Ambulance Service to a spot downstream of the Westminster Bridge. He was also simultaneously hacking the traffic cameras to divert traffic from the ambulance as well as following something on the CCTV cameras.

“Oh, and by the way it’s a 221b,” Q was apparently finishing up with the ambulance crew, “Primary is J, secondary S.” There was a short pause. “I’ll make sure DI Lestrade gets to your location ASAP.” Another pause. “You are most welcome. Good luck.”

Q then grabbed his phone and started texting furiously while still watching the CCTV feed intently. It was less than two minutes later that he nodded to himself and relaxed a bit. A minute after that his phone signaled a text message. He read it and relaxed a bit more. Finally, several minutes later he looked up and spotted Bond standing in the office door with his cup.

“Ah, 007. Just the person I need for a small domestic errand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one occurs before Time and Time Again. I admit I was a little surprised when Sherlock himself invaded this snippet in first person POV no less. The reference to the ambulance code is lifted from the wonderful Code 221b by Whitchry9. *Edited to correct typo*
> 
> BTW: Temperature conversions for those of us in the U.S. are 4.8ºC = 40.64ºF and 18.5ºC = 65.3ºF. Even though I'm physically located in the states I try and convert when the setting is outside the U.S. as a verisimilitude thing.


	32. Cheering Someone Up

Muttered expletives from the upstairs bedroom. Quiet for 30 seconds. Crash followed by the uneven gate of a man navigating with a leg injury. Thump, more expletives. John is frustrated at the rate of healing. Rate of healing is actually statistically ahead of the norm for similar injuries. John is refusing to use his cane because it makes him think about when he returned from Afghanistan. Injury is to the same leg in same spot as the psychosomatic pain. Conclusion: John will not use his cane unless absolutely necessary slowing his recovery by several weeks. Solution for Primary Conclusion: Keep John off his feet as much as possible. Immediate Action: Make tea. Kettle filled and on. Mugs ready. Squeak of bedroom door. Steps on the stair, leaning heavily on banister, more grumbling. Secondary Conclusion: John will become more depressed and frustrated as his recovery slows. Solution for Secondary Conclusion: Distraction. Action Needed: Register John and self for forensics conference next week. Oooh, _Advanced Blood Spatter Analysis Techniques with an Emphasis on Arterial Injuries_ , Presenter A. Scuito. Yes. _Autopsy: Deduce Before You Cut_ , Presenter M. Hopper. Other tolerable seminars selected. Note to self: have Quentin juggle room assignments for seminars so that John will need to move as little as possible. Attend with John and keep him supplied in tea and biscuits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock get out of my head! 
> 
> My first 221 B. It was the result of a suggestion over at ff.net. Takes place shortly after Reason 31 and Time & Time Again but before Reasons 27 and 29.


	33. Keeping Up with the Neighbors

While recuperating from his last mission James Bond had, in between bouts of busy work and the interminable rehab sessions with the sadists in medical, taken to hanging out in Q branch. There was always something interesting in development and the minions provided endless opportunities to hone his observational skills. Of course those delights paled in comparison to what, James had to admit to himself, was fast becoming a serious fascination with the Quartermaster. The man was clearly a genius, a workaholic, and seemed to live on tea, pastries and Indian takeaway. He could be extremely anti-social at times lapsing into an almost trance like state when he was working on something be it coding, hacking or design work. He could also be very engaged seeming to know everything about his minions without being told. He had a quick wit, a very dry sense of humor and a smile that seemed to light up the room when it made its rare appearance. Furthermore Q was something of an enigma in regards to his personal life. He didn’t make references to family, friends or his past even in passing. He would politely deflect any inquiries on those subjects regardless of how obliquely phrased. James had only found out that he had brothers by accident. It was somewhat surprising, therefore, that when James poked his head into the Quartermaster’s office he found him with his back to the door talking on his personal mobile to a friend judging by his tone.

“How the bloody hell did that happen?” Q appeared to be on a tear, “That CPU isn’t even out of alpha development stage yet! You work for the same agency; you’ve got to know how the heck your LA group managed to pry a test version out of Aperture.” There was a short pause followed by, “but you and I both know that Eric doesn’t have that kind of pull. They must have had some sort of inside track.” Q paused and listened some more. His eyebrows went up in surprise, “What the heck does Henrietta Lange have to do with anything?”

James made one of those instant decisions which in the field generally resulted in either instant success or things going sideways in a rather spectacular fashion. He quietly left Q branch without talking to anyone.

Three quarters of an hour and one phone call later James strode back into Q branch. Q was back at his work station in the center of the bullpen having apparently finished his whinging session with his friend.

“What would it take for you to design me an exploding pen Q?” James said as soon as he was within earshot.

“Frozen precipitation in Hell,” Q replied without even looking.

“How ‘bout a trade for an Aperture GL2367?”

Q’s head snapped up. “What! Do you even know what that is 007?”

James smiled, “A piece of tech that you’d dearly love to get your hands on. It should be here next Wednesday.” James felt that the stunned look on Q’s face was well worth the price of a case of 21 year old scotch and a promise of dinner to be redeemed at a later date.


	34. Roommate is Out of Town (so you can use the sofa)

001 in many ways had been a right prick. Still dying in the service of Queen and Country tends to erase a multitude of sins and the eulogy at the official MI6 memorial service reflected that. Edward would have hated it. The unofficial wake held in conference room 3 shortly thereafter would have been much more to his liking; a mixed group of co-workers standing around consuming a variety of alcoholic beverages and telling overblown stories about his prowess in a variety of fields. Too bad Alec Trevelyan, 006, was still on assignment in India James Bond thought to himself. Alec could have added a few choice anecdotes to the mix. Oh well. James collected a drink and unconsciously started cataloging who was in attendance, when they arrived and when they left.

About two hours and several drinks in Bond realized that while he had seen all of the Q-Branch minions at one point or another he’d not seen hide nor hair of the Quartermaster. He started actively paying attention, just in case he’d missed Q somehow in the ebb and flow of the group. The only thing he noticed was that Moneypenny across the room was engaged in a similar surreptitious search. He caught her eye and with a minute jerk of his head indicated the door. She met him there and they walked into the hall together.

“Have you seen Q?” she asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the conference room.

“No. You?”

“Nope. I saw him at the memorial but he disappeared right after,” she commented. “I expected that he’d be at the wake given that he was on the coms when it happened.”

James thought for a moment, “I wonder if he thought it was inappropriate. You know he and Edward really didn’t get along very well.”

“Possibly. It might also be a misplaced sense of responsibility. It’s his job to keep you lot safe as possible and he may be wondering if his dislike caused him to not do his best work.”

“No one who saw what he did to try and get Edward out would ever say that,” James replied. “He shut down a portion of Johannesburg, hacked the Japanese embassy, and then completely took over the emergency dispatch services on what was, knowing him, less than three hours sleep in the prior 72. He practically collapsed from exhaustion afterword.”

“True,” she replied, “but the actuality may be quite a bit different than his perception of events. Remember how he was after…” Eve’s voice trailed off as she belatedly realized just who she was talking to about what had been unofficially labeled The Skyfall Incident.

James actually didn’t know about Q’s reaction to Skyfall but given his own state of mind at the time he could easily extrapolate. “So where would he likely be?” He interjected quickly to change the subject.

“I’ll check his office, you try the labs and if he’s not there I’ll meet you at the weapon’s range in 10.”

It was only seven minutes later when James and Eve met outside the empty weapons range. As they stared at the range door it suddenly dawned on both of them exactly where Q might be. “Server farm!” they said together.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Alec Trevalyn had managed to make it back to London in record time thanks to a quick conclusion to his assignment, R’s wizardry with the airline’s reservation system and his own willingness to forgo sleep in favor of getting home. He was heading to the flat he was currently sharing with 007 with only two things on his mind, a long overdue shower and a date with his bed. He walked into the foyer only to have all his instincts go into overdrive. Something wasn’t right. He flattened himself against the wall and drew his weapon in one smooth motion then peeked around the corner to look into the living room.

It only took a moment for him to assess the situation, holster his weapon and slowly enter the room. The coffee table held a variety of empty liquor bottles and assorted glasses. 004, Laura, was asleep wedged in the corner of the sofa. Bill Tanner was snuggled up against her, head pillowed on her shoulder also sound asleep. Eve Moneypenny was taking up the remaining sofa space, snoring slightly with her head resting in Bill’s lap. James was sitting in one of the oversized armchairs carefully lowering his Walther to avoid disturbing the Quartermaster who was curled up in his lap. Alec sighed quietly and headed for the Kitchen to see if they had all the necessary ingredients to make a pitcher of Bloody Marys.


	35. Not Pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle Readers: This chapter mentions of off-screen rape and torture. Nothing graphic or even specific but if you have serious triggers for same you might want to avoid.

It was 18:30 and I decided that an early evening was in order. Q branch was uncharacteristically quiet. There were no high priority missions in progress so the swing shift was running light. I started shutting down my workstation when the branch doors slid open and 004 walked in. I hadn't seen her since she'd returned, day before yesterday, from the Hong Kong mission that had been FUBAR from almost the get go. The mission had been to infiltrate a research facility. Through no fault of hers she’d been discovered, captured, and held for 72 hours before breaking free. She’d managed to kill most of the staff on the way out while the extraction team had taken care of the rest. I was a little surprised. She looked much worse than I expected from reading the AAR.

"Q," Laura said softly once she came within earshot, "can I have a moment?"

Just then Ryan, one of few techs currently in the bullpen, sneezed loudly. I could tell it startled her even though she suppressed the reaction almost immediately. Something was definitely off.

"Sure. My office?"

I didn’t wait but turned and headed in that direction keeping my body language relaxed. 00’s are naturally tough and training makes them even tougher. They don’t come apart often but when they do the results are not pleasant. I hoped my office would be sufficient to contain any damage if she completely lost it.

Laura followed me in, closing the door behind us. She then walked over and hitched one hip up onto the corner of my desk. I took a good look at her. You don’t grow up with the brothers I did without learning to deduce from even the slightest of clues. I put the lessons that they’d taught me to use. Breathing pattern indicated rib injuries, splinting left wrist, movement and posture hinting at significant bruising, hyper alert, trying to project a “normal” affect, factoring in the bruising and I deduced she’d been tortured and most likely raped. The AAR hadn’t mentioned the latter so why the heck hadn’t medical picked up on it or for that matter the ribs? As it often works for me, unlike Sherlock and Mycroft, the question itself sparked the answer; she’d been avoiding it. The lab had been engaged in biomedical research. The equipment as well as the décor had been...Oh shit! It was highly likely that she couldn’t even get near medical without having some sort of panic reaction and she’d come to have me talk her through it as if it were a mission. My observation and deductions had not taken very long but I fiddled with gathering some of my gear to give me some time to come up with some viable options.

“You’ve met Dr. Watson haven’t you?” I asked before she could say anything.

She gave me a startled look, “He’s the outside medical consultant who put you back together?”

“Uh-huh. Compact, dishwater blond, Ex-RAMC, also patched up 007 several years ago in Afghanistan,” I specifically neglected to add _runs around after my brother and scared 006 into staying in medical for two days_.

“And?” It was clear that Laura couldn’t see where I was heading with this.

“I’ve got an oversized medical kit and a large bathroom,” I hastened to explain. "I could get him to come to my place and look you over. Probably avoid medical altogether.”

She slumped slightly, relief evident in her posture. “Thanks Q.”

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Two and a half hours later I put down my book as Dr. Watson exited the guest bedroom in my flat. I raised one eyebrow at him in question.

He plopped down in an armchair before replying. “Mostly deep tissue bruising and contusions, three cracked ribs,” he paused then added “and she’s not pregnant.”

“Only three?”

“Only three. You’ll need to restock on bandaging. I used a good bit of it.” John looked thoughtful then commented, “I thought Sherlock and I were reasonably well off for medical supplies but your bathroom makes ours look empty.”

I chuckled, “Comes from having 00’s break into your flat and bleed on your furniture. After the first few times I learned to be prepared for most anything.” I glanced at the bedroom door where more than one battered agent had spent the night rather than stay in medical. “You put her to bed?”

“Yes. She mostly needs rest and standard analgesics if you can get her to take them. Expect nightmares, especially given that we discovered a PTSD trigger with the smell of disinfectant. I’ll type up my findings and forward them to Dr. Cornick in your medical department.”

“Tea?” I offered standing up.

“No thanks,” John responded as he stood in turn. “I’d better get back. Sherlock thinks the body they found in Hyde Park this morning is a serial killer. He’s expecting a call when they find the next victim. I don’t want him running off without me.” The unspoken _he gets hurt when he does that_ was clear.

“Well,” I said handing him his coat at the door, “Thanks again and I owe you a favor.”

“No problem,” John replied, “given your brother’s propensity for attracting trouble I’m sure something will turn up sooner rather than later!”


	36. Practice

“Come on Sherlock,” John said in his best Captain Watson voice, “its only dinner and you can attempt to act civilized for the space of a few hours.”

“Do we have to?” his companion the Consulting Detective who was currently emulating a 5 year old whinged.

“I promised your younger brother we’d be there and besides when it comes to being socially appropriate you need the practice!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse hit me with this three sentence fiction during my morning commute. Enjoy.


	37. Air Conditioning

“Wake up John, we have a case!”

I rolled over and pried my eyes open to look at my obscenely cheerful flat mate who was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement in my doorway. I glanced at the clock. 6:30. Gah. Didn’t he know better than to wake someone up at the crack of dawn especially after the night I’d had.

“Come on John, it’s a locked room in an R&D lab. At least an 8.” He sounded absolutely gleeful.

“Give me 10,” I muttered as I levered myself to a sitting position and attempted to determine exactly how much effort it was going to take to make me feel human again.

Sherlock made a sound between a snort and an affirmative hum back at me before leaving the doorway and bounding down the stairs.

Surprisingly I wasn’t terribly hung over. Only a moderate headache, no nausea and the room wasn’t spinning. Even better I didn’t seem to be light or sound sensitive which was a surprise given the amount I’d had to drink. The 28th of December was generally not a good day for me. While Sherlock had been off gallivanting around taking down Moriarty’s network, his hiatus he called it, I had ended up finding a person who I thought was my soul mate. Unfortunately, we’d not had the time to find out whether that was true or not because less than two months after we met she’d been diagnosed with a rare cancer. It had taken four months to kill her despite the best efforts of the medical professionals. I had added her name to the list of those I’d lost both personally and professionally and, despite my dislike of marking anniversaries, taken to raising a glass, or two, or more in remembrance of all of them on the date of her death. I managed to get to my feet and stumbled into the bathroom only to find a glass of orange juice and three paracetamols sitting on the sink. There were days that Sherlock’s propensity for deducing everything and anything came in useful.

It was only 15 minutes later that I managed to make it into the sitting room. There was no sign of Sherlock and I wondered if I had time for toast. As soon as I had thought that Sherlock slammed in the door with a take away cup from Speedy’s in his hand. He snagged my jacket and tossed it at me saying, “Come along, Lestrade is holding the forensics for us!” He handed me the cup after I had struggled into my jacket and we were off.

The body was indeed in a locked room. A locked _clean room_ to be exact. We walked in just in time to observe a major argument between Lestrade and the facility manager regarding whether or not anyone could enter the lab without full protective gear to avoid contaminating any of the components which were on the tables.  As if the presence of a dead body in the room hadn’t already caused the very contamination that the manager was going on about. Sherlock didn’t even pause. He simply walked over to the keypad lock, examined it for a moment then punched in a few numbers. The door swung open which had the side effect of stopping the manager in mid rant. Sherlock proceeded to enter the room and I was hot on his heels.

“John?” His eyes indicated the body so I knelt and examined it. 30 something, male, fit, lab rat by the faint scars on the back of his hands. His skin was bluish in color and the conjunctiva was slightly swollen. Judging from the progression of rigor mortis and without a liver temp my best guess was that he'd expired sometime between 2 and 4 am.

I looked at Sherlock. He was standing in the middle of the room slowly turning about eyes darting everywhere. Lestrade and the manager were hovering in the doorway. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at me and I related my findings. Sherlock grunted softly so I know he had registered my words. I was just about to stand up when my stomach grumbled loudly. I really should have taken time for toast.

Lestrade coughed which I could tell was an attempt to cover a laugh then said, “Didn’t let you get breakfast did he?”

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” I remarked, “if it didn’t smell like Ms. Hudson’s peanut butter biscuits in here.”

“Ha! Check his pockets for an epi-pen.” Sherlock ordered.

I did. “Nope.”

Sherlock smiled, “Our victim died from anaphylactic shock. He was recently in San Francisco, arrived back yesterday but came here rather than delivering his package,” Sherlock gestured to a bit of foam packaging and a computer part on the table, “to its intended destination. He’d obviously set up a deal to sell this CPU to some third party. The recipient was expecting something like this and assassinated him by placing an allergen into the air conditioning system. It was a professional job. They would need decent intelligence to know about the peanut butter allergy as well as time to set up the delivery mechanism so I doubt you’ll get any forensic evidence from where ever they put the peanut butter. Your assassin or a proxy will most likely show up to retrieve his,” Sherlock took a closer look at the CPU on the bench, “GL2367 relatively soon. Come along John. I owe you a proper breakfast for rousting you out of bed this morning.”

*******

Q carefully backed out of the computerized security system then sighed. He paused for a moment and opened a com line, “007 how do you feel about a foray into the NSY evidence locker sometime next week?”


	38. From a Country He’s Not Seduced Someone From (Yet)

“You have a lovely accent so where exactly is it from?” Bond’s dulcet tones came in clearly over the coms.

“Namibia” the svelte woman replied.

There was an immediate rustling of papers in Q-Branch then one of the minions suddenly called out “Bingo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the fact that my 3 sentence fictions come fully formed into my mind during my morning commute say more about me or about my commute?


	39. Cargo Shorts

M clearly had not considered all the ramifications of banishing the MI6 Quartermaster to his childhood home in Sussex to recuperate after his recent kidnapping. If he had, he surely wouldn’t have banned electronics from the premises. While an onsite physician was a good idea the fact that said physician came accompanied by a sociopathic genius with a penchant for explosive chemistry, a passion for bees and who happened to be the Quartermaster’s older half-brother left something to be desired if the intent was to provide a calm and restful atmosphere. While the grounds were secure as was befitting the country home of the Quartermaster’s other half-brother, a man who was half-jokingly referred to as _The British Government_ , and before him the now deceased head of MI6, the interior of the house was a damned rabbit warren. When you combined that with the Quartermaster’s propensity to wander when bored (a boffin without electronics was terminally bored) and a tendency toward narcolepsy caused by his recent medical issues (he seemed to fall asleep whenever he stopped moving) it meant a constant headache for his official bodyguard, James Bond.

Currently Bond was cursing M for being a short sighted micromanaging tyrant with all the creativity and languages the 00 agent could muster as he searched for Q in this labyrinthine antique manor house. Searching was not made any easier by the fact that when anxious or stressed Q seemed to prefer small enclosed spaces. That meant he had to open almost every cupboard and armoire in the place in an attempt to locate his missing Quartermaster.  A little more than a half hour into his search James opened the door to one of the parlors only to spy Dr. John Watson sitting reading a book.

Dr. Watson looked up and explained “Sherlock kicked me out of the Library an hour or so ago saying I was _thinking too loudly_. I give it another 10 minutes or so before he comes up with an excuse to come find me.” Watson took in James’ expression and sighed. “He’s wandered off hasn’t he?”

“If you lot had let him bring a tablet or something this would be easier. I could simply have one of the Q-Branch minions trace its last location,” James grumbled.

“And you know as well as I do if Quentin had electronics he’ll simply do that _it’s_ _only_ _transport_ focus thing that he and Sherlock both do and not get enough rest.”

“If it’s any consolation it seems to be a family thing. According to his PA Mycroft does it too and I know for a fact that M used to run most of the rest of the agency into the ground when the garbage really started flying.”

Just then the door on the other side of the room opened, “John have you seen…” Sherlock stopped talking when he noticed James. “You’ve lost him again.” It wasn’t a question.

“Any ideas where to look?” James was not one to eschew a resource. Since Sherlock had also grown up in this monstrosity of a house with Q he clearly might have a suggestion or two.

“What did he say and what was he wearing when you last saw him?”

“He was wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt and was mumbling something about a nap.”

“Try the conservatory. He’ll be in one of the window nooks.” Sherlock stated his conclusion as fact.

James spun on his heel and headed in the indicated direction. Sure enough he found Quentin sound asleep curled up on a window seat hidden behind a screen of potted foliage. James backed off and found himself a wicker lounge chair in which he ensconced himself to watch over his Quartermaster’s rest.


	40. Texted the Wrong Person

Via SMS

From: M. Hooper  
To: S. Holmes  
_Do you want a hand?_  
(Message received by G. Lestrade)

From: G. Lestrade  
To: M. Hooper  
_I could use some help keeping him in line._  
(Message received by J. Watson)

From J. Watson  
To: G. Lestrade  
_Be there in a bit but you’ll owe me a beer._  
(Message received by S. Donovan)

From: S. Donovan  
To: J. Watson  
_No you owe me for putting up with your mess._  
(Message received by P. Anderson)

From: P. Anderson  
To: S. Donovan  
_So what do you want?_  
(Message received by S. Holmes)

From: S. Holmes  
To: P. Anderson  
_A competent hand with forensics. SH_  
(Message received by M. Hooper)

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Interoffice Memo  
To: Programmers  
From: Q  
Re: SMS Intercept program test.  
There appears to be a coding error. You are just lucky none of the affected parties noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my...only 10 more chapters to go. Typo spotted by LizzyBeth14 over on FF.net.


	41. Looks Like Your Co-Worker

Q registered Shirley’s sudden gasp and muttered expletive but didn’t look up. She’d been attempting to get a good picture of their current mark, the head of a smuggling ring, known as The Spaniel. The man was notoriously camera shy and well aware of surveillance so the only visuals they had were long range and fuzzy at best. Obviously she’d run into a problem. Well if she needed help she’d ask. Q had been digitally stalking the man’s current alias for weeks in an attempt to determine his personal preferences. That was why 007 was currently in Cyprus staking out a hotel.

Q glanced up when Spider walked over to Shirley’s station apparently having been summoned. His attention was caught when heard Spider say “Holy shit!”

Q decided to see what the fuss was about so he slaved his terminal to Shirley’s. On the screen was very clean, clear picture of what could only be their target. The man’s appearance, however, was a little shocking. Their target looked enough like Q to be his twin if Q was a half a dozen years older and wore a bespoke suit. Bloody hell.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

It was a week later and Bond was back worse for wear enough that Dr. Cornick insisted he stay in medical for at least one night. Q knew it was bad when Bond didn’t even make a token objection. What was more surprising was that Bond stayed put in medical for another 24 hours before surreptitiously leaving the building without debriefing or filing an AAR. Q only knew this because he hacked the confidential medical records. Bond hadn’t even returned his equipment to Q-branch in person. It simply showed up in a box at Q’s work station sometime after Bond had been seen leaving the building. Q cleaned up the last bit of code he was working on then decided that a relatively early evening was in order. Much to his surprise his flat, when he entered it, was occupied. James was sprawled on the sofa looking only a bit less like bruised meat than he had when he returned from the assignment.

“Hello Q.”

Bond didn’t even open his eyes. Q could see that he was tense despite the seemingly relaxed pose. Q hesitated. Due to the fact that James had gone dark soon after first contact and lack of an AAR he didn’t know exactly what had happened with The Spaniel before James’ had terminated him. It had clearly been rather intense as evidenced by Bond’s injuries. What he didn’t know was the psychological impact of being tortured by someone who looked eerily like the man who was on the other end of his coms getting him out of whatever trouble he found himself in.

“Bond,” Q decided to try a neutral tone. James relaxed slightly.

“I wanted to talk to you before I debriefed.”

“Oh?”

“This is somewhat your fault you know.”

Q’s eyebrows shot up, “How so?”

“God only knows what the idiots in psyc would say but I had to let him do this.”

“Huh?”

“It would have been easier if you had been in contact but I had to ditch the earwig early on.” Bond continued in an apparent non-sequitur.

Q didn’t know what to say to that so settled for shrugging off his coat, setting his gear down and moving to sit down in his arm chair. Bond still didn’t open his eyes but it was clear he was tracking Q’s movements. Whatever James was trying to express would come in its own time. Q could be patient.

The silence lasted for a minute or two before Bond started in again. “I had to convince part of myself that despite what it looked and sounded like that he wasn’t you. I don’t think I'd have been able to deal with him otherwise.”

“Oh.” Q was stunned. That statement had all sorts of implications that he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with just yet.

Bond opened his eyes then and looked over at Q. “If I were M, knowing this, I would sick the psyc boys on me and ban us from working together.”

“And what do you want?” Q asked softly.

“I want your voice in my ear, your tech in my pocket, your support, your friendship and anything else you are willing to give me.”

“You are, no doubt, aware that this is against all sorts of regulations.”

“Since when have either of us been overly concerned with regulations?”

Q snorted softly, “You seem to be intent on tarnishing my career in espionage.”

“Well as Quartermaster,” James countered, “Isn’t it your primary job description to provide support to the 00 division?”

Q had to chuckle at that. “Well I certainly wouldn’t want to be accused of not providing you with appropriate support. As much or as little as you need to say. I’ll back you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LizzyBeth14 on FF.net for a typo spot.


	42. Christening a New Flat

Q was annoyed.  It was bad enough being banished to Sussex without electronics but being stuck with James Bond as an overprotective bodyguard was worse.  Just what 007 though could threaten him when he was in one of the most well-guarded estates in the country he didn’t know.  It wasn’t all bad though.  Having John Watson in residence as his personal physician was much preferable to anyone in MI6 medical even if it meant that he had to put up with his half-brother.  Having Sherlock around, on the other hand, meant that there was no chance in hell that he’d be able to circumvent the electronics ban by liberating a smart phone or cobbling together something from the estate’s security system.  To add insult to injury he’d just been informed that since his former flat had been compromised he was being moved to a flat in a higher security building. 

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

A bit over a week later Q was marginally less annoyed.  The mandated move had resulted in a lifting of the electronics ban.  This was in part due to the fact Q had managed to inform M, in no uncertain terms, the he would not be held responsible for injuries or fatalities incurred due to the preset countermeasures in his flat.  As a result he ended up remotely overseeing the dismantling and moving of his servers and the relocation of his surveillance measures by Shirley.  Since the 00’s were already on the need to know list for branch head and executive residences Laura and Alec took charge of moving his personal items.  As for the rest of his security measures he ended up talking Spider into toning them down from _incapacitating_ to _annoyance_ and then told Moneypenny to let the A list agents have a crack at it as a training exercise. 

Of course the entire process took at least three times longer than it should have, mostly because John kept insisting that he eat while sitting at a table, not while attempting to multitask on the coms.  Sherlock was no help either in that he kept distracting Q by requiring technological assistance with one or another of his experiments and refusing to take _no_ for an answer.  007 was similarly unhelpful.  Somehow he had perfected a technique of maneuvering Q into a position, whenever and wherever he fell asleep, such that physical discomfort would not wake him prematurely.  None of the behaviors exhibited by his companions were in and of themselves terribly time consuming however when taken together they seriously limited the time he spent overseeing the move.  It was obviously a conspiracy.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

It took about a month after having been released from the medical equivalent of house arrest for Q to feel comfortable in his new flat.  His belongings were all unpacked, his servers were optimized, he’d installed a whole host of new security measures over and above those already in the building but something was missing.  It was a nicer place than he’d had before but it was lacking that ineffable quality that made it _home_.  Q couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong until the night he came home to find a battered 007 bleeding on his couch at which, of course, made the whole thing suddenly moot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its strange but the more of these I write the more story arc tendencies they seem to acquire. I've come to the conclusion that I need to firmly set these snippets into a timeline so that I keep overall continuity. That said, I'm toying with the idea of publishing a timeline for the series so you, gentle readers, can see how all these fit with each other. If I do so it will be either Chapter 51 of this story or a stand alone meta linked to the 2.5 Holmes series. Once again thanks to LizzyBeth14 over on FF.net for finding a typo.


	43. Can’t Say “I love you”

Eve Moneypenny peered into the dimly lit room in MI6 medical to determine if her quarry was still in residence.  Much to her surprise he was.  She quietly slipped into the room to observe a very battered and appearantly sleeping James Bond.  Honestly, she thought to herself, he didn’t look too bad considering the injuries detailed in the medical report.  The torturer he had encountered had clearly been an expert using methods designed to elicit maximum pain without too much overt physical damage.  However, even minimal physical damage left bruises, burns and contusions and 007 clearly had his fair share from this encounter. 

 She’d seen him look worse, much worse.  This particular set of injuries was nothing compared to his condition after the Skyfall incident.  That time it hadn’t been just the injuries it had also been the aura of grief and guilt that he had radiated.  Now he looked almost peaceful in what had to be a drugged slumber.  Moneypenny wondered if she shouldn’t bug off and leave him be.  She couldn’t assess his mental state while he was asleep which was what M had tasked her to do.  But if she didn’t do it now there was no guarantee he’d still be in medical when she returned.  She gave a slight sigh and shifted her weight in preparation to walk closer to the bed when Bond spoke without opening his eyes.

 “So to what do I owe the pleasure Moneypenny?  Come to harass me for reports before I’m even out of medical?”

 “Not exactly 007,” she replied.  “M does need a debrief sooner rather than later but the AAR can wait a few days on your recovery.”  She paused then added teasingly, “It’s been almost 30 hours since you dragged yourself in.  I’m surprised that I caught you before you made your usual escape!”

 James opened his eyes and glared blearily at her.  “I would have been out of here earlier but someone was real creative with the painkillers and the sedatives when I wasn’t looking” he groused while moving his hand vaguely causing the IV line to swing. 

 Ah, Eve thought, that explains the payment request from Dr. Cornick for Dr. Watson’s services which was sitting on her desk.

 “So what did you come down here for?” Bond continued.

 “To deliver M’s message and to see how you were doing.  It can’t be easy when your assignment turns out to involve someone who looks a lot like a close co-worker.”

 Bond’s face went hard, “You knew?”

 “Not initially,” Moneypenny explained, “Q-branch only managed to get a good image just before you made contact and there wasn’t time to send you the intel without blowing your cover.”

 Bond continued to glare at her, his face losing its previous vagueness from the drugs.  This was what made the 00’s so very dangerous and 007 the most dangerous among them, the ability to focus despite the physical condition they found themselves in.

 “Q went ballistic.  He turned the entire branch on its head attempting to determine if they could have had the image sooner.  He then came and berated M for letting the mission get ahead of intelligence.  I suspect that he would have figured out a way to contact you but by that time you’d gone dark.” 

 Eve found herself almost babbling under Bond’s intense scrutiny. 

 “Once that happened he was down in the branch 24/7 trying to get a lead on you.  M had to give him a direct order to get him to go home and sleep.  Even then he was back in the branch the minute M allowed R to let him in.  I wouldn’t put it past him to have hacked in from home either.”

 Bond was now looking less murderous and more confused.  It was only due to the drugs he had in his system that Eve saw the moment when James figured it out.  Now it only remained to see what exactly he’d do with that knowledge.

 James exhaled sharply.  “Tell M I’ll be able to debrief sometime in the next 24 to 48 hours.  In the meantime could you run my equipment,” he indicated a box on the table, “down to Q-Branch.” 

 He gave her one of his most charming smiles.  The effectiveness was only a bit diminished by the bruises on his face.

 “Of course James,” she responded knowing full well that 007 would be breaking out of medical rather shortly. 

 Monneypenny scooped up the box in preparation for leaving.  “I’ll personally make sure it gets back to them next time I’m headed that way.”  She knew that Bond would get the message that she wouldn’t return the box until she was sure he had cleared the building.  “Get some rest Bond, you look like you need it,” was her parting shot as she sashayed out the door. 

 “Thank you.” She heard him say softly.

 As she headed back up to the executive offices Eve wondered if she had done the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't figure it out already this one occurs just before the 2nd half of Chapter 41.


	44. Wingman

It had been a while since James and I had been out to a local after work. This was primarily due to the fact that we were rarely both off duty and in the same city at the same time. The reasons for that were legion however I secretly suspected it had something to do with the old M’s grousing that the potential for something blowing up or catching fire went up exponentially when James and I were in the same location for more than 48 hours.

This particular evening found us in a nice pub nowhere near Vauxhall Cross in the company of Moneypenny and surprisingly Q; whom she’d somehow managed to pry out of his tunnels. The ostensible reason for the gathering was Moneypenny’s upcoming birthday. James and I were also celebrating his medical clearance after his tangle with the smuggler known as the Spaniel. Now all that remained before he was declared _fit for active duty_ was to convince the shrinks that he wasn’t off his rocker or that he was at least as sane as any of us 00’s ever are.

Ways to mess with the psyc department, of course, became the topic du jour. It really surprised me to discover that Q-branch seemed to have just as much trouble with the headshrinkers as the 00’s did.

“Apparently,” Q explained, “listening to what you lot get up to over the coms and being unable to do much about it is _inherently damaging_ to the psyche.” He paused to take a drink of his beer and continued, “What those idiots don’t seem to understand is that most of my branch relieves stress by designing stuff that blows up or blowing stuff up in video games not talking to someone in a windowless office for two hours!”

We all had our favorite methods. James often resorted to non sequiturs during word association test, Moneypenny went the _mind numbing boring minutia_ route, and I tended to lapse into Russian. Q noted that he would sprinkle his answers with technological analogies that were full of jargon incomprehensible to anyone but a programmer and when all else failed he’d use the Q-branch word of the month. This month the word happened to be _natiform_ : resembling buttocks. It was not to be confused with _napiform_ : shaped like a turnip. There were bonus points if you could manage to get both words into your psyc evaluation. James stated his intent to take up that challenge.

At that point we’d pretty much exhausted the topic as well as our libations so Q headed off to the bar to get the next round and Moneypenny headed for the loo. That was when I caught the look on James’ face as he watched Q interact with the bartender. I hadn’t seen that look very often but historically it ended up with the recipient becoming collateral damage in one way or another.

“Is that wise James?” I asked him in a low voice.

“Probably not Alec,” he replied “but at least this way there’s a whole agency to protect him from the consequences of knowing me.”

“Point. Won’t things get awkward if…” I stopped in midsentence as I spotted Moneypenny making her way across the floor helping Q carry our drinks.

As the evening wore on I intentionally devoted more time to Moneypenny while attempting to keep half an eye on James’ interactions with Q. It proved to be somewhat difficult as Moneypenny was quite engaging. Even better she seemed to be amenable to continuing our conversation in a more private venue. I gave James one of our pre-arranged signals to indicate that whatever happened I would not be using our flat then I offered to see her home. I opined that since everyone knew that she and Tanner ran the day to day operations while M only provided political and interagency cover her loss would seriously discommode, if not cripple, the nation’s foreign operations and thus it was my patriotic duty to ensure her security. Moneypenny and Q found my declaration highly amusing while James barely managed to keep a straight face. Regardless of the hyperbole she and I ended up walking out of the pub together less than five minutes later.

“So, my place I assume,” she remarked casually as I attempted to flag down a cab. “I don’t think you want to be anywhere near your and James’ flat tonight.”

I had to smile at that. It seemed that I was not the only person on wingman duty this evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec Trevelyn showed up in my Muse's office one day this week and said "You know that Q won't talk to you about that night in the pub." My muse leaned forward, put her chin on her hand and said "Oh do sit down 006 and tell me!" Thus this snippet was born.


	45. The Condoms are About to Expire

Q was standing at his station in the Q-Branch bullpen when the icon appeared on his computer screen indicating an incoming message on his personal phone. Considering that he could count on one hand the number of people who had that number and two of them were currently standing less than 20 feet away from him it was most likely one of his brothers and quite likely important.

_Did you borrow something from NSY last night? SH_

_No, Why?_ He typed back.

_No alarm, cameras looped, logs fudged, missing experimental CPU Aperture GL2367. SH_

_Why me?_

_Few others have that level of skill. SH_

Shit. Q grabbed his mobile with the intent to call his brother Sherlock for more details. Before he could do so it rang in his hand. It was Mycroft.

“Yes?”

“I would appreciate it if that missing item didn’t leave the country,” said the smooth tones of his brother oozed suspicion.

“Last I knew the MET under your jurisdiction.” He grumped. “Not my fault they lost it.”

“Thank you brother dear,” said Mycroft and rang off.

Well that was one down. Mycroft at least understood that he didn’t have it. He stared at the mobile. Calling Sherlock would most likely just waste time. No he needed to see who had actually had hacked the Yard and if he could determine who they were working for.

Less than 20 minutes later he had his answer. _The Demon_ , he texted Sherlock.

_Working for? SH_

_Unknown. BTW This one is mine._

_Not if I find it first! SH_

Great, Q thought, just what I need. Mycroft, despite what he’d implied, wouldn’t keep his people out of the hunt and Sherlock was treating it as a competition with sibling bragging rights on the line. Good thing he had a bored 00 at his beck and call this week.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Less than twelve hours later 007 found himself breaking into a shipping warehouse that Q had managed to link to the thieves.

“You are looking for a shipment going to Belarus,” Q’s voice directed.

“Anywhere in particular?” James asked as he shuffled through the shipping manifests on the desk in the office.

“Vitsyebsk by way of Minsk if not directly,” was the quick reply.

“Got it,” Bond snapped a photo of the invoice with his mobile and sent it to Q then went looking for the appropriate shipment. When he found it he swore under his breath then asked “Just how large is this computer part we are looking for?”

“5 cm square, 2 cm thick plus or minus.”

“Lovely,” Bond’s voice dripped sarcasm, “You won’t believe what I’m looking at.”

“Try me.”

“A pallet of condoms.”

“A pallet?” Q sounded normal but James could hear giggling in the background.

“6 cases, 36 boxes per case 24 condoms per box,” James read off the side of the cardboard. “No indication that any of these have ever been opened.”

Q made a frustrated noise. “They must have a way to figure it out quickly. The shipping company is legitimate as is the receiver. The thieves would have to break in and retrieve the chip before the merchandise was sent on to its ultimate destination.” The background laughter was a bit louder. “You’d think I was working with a bunch of randy teenagers.” Q grumbled.

“Probably lack of experience with the product,” James replied.

“Just be happy you are not on this end. The innuendo is running rather thick around here.”

“So I’ll just have to wait until your minions get their minds out of the gutter or should I just steal the entire pallet?”

“Wait….Weight! That CPU is relatively heavy. Look around for a scale the more sensitive one you can find the better!”

Once the appropriate scale was located it didn’t take long for James to determine the proper case and the correct box within the case.

“OK, take the box and get out of there 007.” Q directed. “It looks like three MI5 agents are heading your way and my brother and Dr. Watson are within a couple of blocks.”

James started moving and exited the building via the roof. He paused in an alley several buildings away to extract the chip and place it in his pocket. The rest of the condoms went into a convenient bin.

“Not keeping the extras?” Q asked. He’d clearly seen the binning over the CCTV camera on the corner.

“Not worth it,” Bond replied. “They are about to expire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one happens a few days after "Air conditioning". I keep wondering if anyone has figured out the significance of the chip name yet. Two hints...who is it made by and look at your phone keypad.


	46. It's Getting Hard

Lisa opened her standard memo and started her review as her final step in preparing for her trip.

_Interoffice Memo_  
_From: Alice, Abagail, Anthea, Ariel (or whatever “A” name I’m using this week.)_  
_To: Temporary Duty P.A._  
_Re: 5 Tips for Acting as P.A. to Mycroft Holmes_

_Congratulations on being selected to act as Mr. Holmes’ temporary P.A. while I am away from the office. The following information should be useful in your temporary assignment._

_1\. Be competent: You already have a certain level of skill, you wouldn’t be assigned to this office otherwise. Take it up a level. This will involve being connected at all times using whatever means necessary. Your modified Blackberry is your new best friend. Mr. Holmes will not expect you to anticipate his requests, however if he asks you to obtain something (e.g. poison dart frogs at 00:40) do not argue, just do so as expeditiously as possible. The folder labeled “procurements” on my computer may prove helpful in this regard._

_2\. Remain calm, cool and collected: Do not show surprise or react to anything that happens. This also requires that you be impeccably dressed for the situation at hand. Your looks and demeanor reflect not only the dignity of this office but also of Mr. Holmes himself. He is referred to by some as “the ice man” for a reason._

_3\. Be Quiet: Mr. Holmes will lapse into “thinking mode” from time to time. You will recognize this by his posture. He will most often sit in a chair with his fingers interlaced, hands on his chest with his index fingers extended. His eyes may be closed but he will not be asleep. Do not disturb him when he is in this attitude for anything less than a national emergency. Please note that anything involving Sherlock Holmes or John Watson qualifies as a national emergency._

_4\. Food, Drink and Sleep: While Mr. Holmes will primarily take care of his needs in this capacity, either directly or by request, if there is a crisis he may forget to do so. In such cases remind him of the necessity of sustenance every 3-4 hours after his last meal. Reminders need not be verbal and may take the form of tea or small snacks placed with easy reach. Reminders that REM sleep is necessary for optimal functioning should commence at 48 hours if he has had no sleep at all, 72 if he has managed to sleep any amount during the time period._

_5\. Ensure his Safety: While inside the country MI5 provides perimeter security. If he is required to travel abroad please contact the Quartermaster of MI6 to coordinate arrangements. Be aware that you are his last line of defense. Remain armed at all times in his presence. In addition have a minimum of two “hold out” weapons on your person. Do not be surprised if he knows exactly what weapons you are carrying and their locations. Assess each situation for threats but do not do so overtly unless directly ordered. Using your Blackberry will provide adequate “cover” for this activity if necessary. His umbrella has unique functions and may be used as a weapon. Do not play with it. Do not lose it. If he decides to use it offensively step out of the way._

_I will be returning to duty on ______________. Good luck._

Lisa typed Tuesday in the blank then sat back and mentally reviewed her preparations. She’d done everything possible and if things went as planned there would be no problems. Of course, she noted to herself, plans rarely survived the first engagement with the enemy especially when Mycroft Homes was involved. She printed the memo and placed it in the temporary assignment folder. She hoped it would help.

Lisa herself had received a similar memo upon assuming the P.A. position. She sighed. At the time she didn’t know it was lacking one unwritten item which was personal to her. As time went on this secret rule became more and more vital to the performance of her duties.

_6\. Never let him know you love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one occurs before Chapter 9. I guess this snippit officially puts this 'verse onto the good ship Mythea. I knew it was aboard the HMS 00Q rather early however I was rather surprised by the behavior of this particular plot bunny.  
> LizzyBeth14, typo spotter extraordinaire from FF.net, found another one!


	47. Miscommunication

Sniper missions can be a pain in the arse, sometimes literally; complex sniper missions even more so. Regardless of type they are always roughly 95% set up and 5% action. My most recent mission, for example, was originally four days of set up to allow me to enter a certain hotel suite. Then I needed to balance on a window ledge for up to four hours waiting for the mark to get into the perfect position. Of course once the shot was taken I was going to plant the _evidence_ to frame a certain criminal group for the killing and then extricate myself as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, as seems to be the norm for many of my missions, things went spectacularly tits up.

The 48 hours after I’d entered the hotel suite to find it occupied were intense to say the least. I may have managed a total of five hours of rest during that period. I suspected that Q got substantially less. He was in my ear the entire time giving me advice which I occasionally followed. Thanks in no small part to his technological wizardry and my improvisation the mission was completed with minimal damage to my personage. The equipment, however, was a total loss. As I boarded the plane heading for London I told Q in no uncertain terms to get some rest. He grumbled something about unavoidable prior commitments but promised to leave early.

I arrived at Heathrow without incident and made it to my flat by 23:40. I was looking forward to a good eight hours of uninterrupted sleep before reporting in to debrief. I managed about four when my mobile went off. I glanced at the number then answered.

Bill Tanner’s voice said three words that no agent just off a mission wants to hear, “We need you,” followed by three more words that fully drove home the seriousness of the situation, “What’s your ETA?”

“20 minutes,” I said. I made it to Vauxhall Cross in 15.

I headed toward the executive offices only to be intercepted by Moneypenny who was moving very fast despite her three inch heels. “Q-branch” was all she said as I fell in beside her.

R was in charge of the branch which seemed to be in a state of controlled panic. She was conferring with M as Moneypenny and I entered. From the conversations around me I quickly gathered that some MP’s had been killed in meeting around midnight, we’d fended off a cyber-attack with some damage to our communications infrastructure, MI5 had also been attacked at the same time and was locked down. Q had left the building at 17:25, no one was able to reach him and he had yet to make contact. There had been an e-mail at 03:57 but it had been garbled badly by a virus inserted as part of the attack. The only reason anyone suspected that the e-mail might have been Q was that the routing had been through his personal servers which had protections which were the cyber equivalent of the vault containing the crown jewels.

M looked up and waved me over. As I came within range he asked “You were the last person who had more than an incidental contact with Q, did he say anything that indicated his plans?”

 I related details of our last conversation. The virus had done a number on the mission logs as well as the e-mail. R mentioned, as a somewhat distracted response to my query, that we’d get them back but it was going to take a day or two. In the meantime locating Q had clearly become the highest priority.

I wracked my sleep deprived brain to see if there was anything in our interactions over the course of the mission that would give a clue as to Q’s location. Suddenly something clicked. It had been his tone when he’d mentioned an unavoidable prior commitment. It was the tone of voice, half exasperated half fond, that he used when talking about his brothers. If MI5 was locked down there was no way I was going to get a message to Mycroft. That left Sherlock who more often than not refused to answer his phone preferring instead to communicate via SMS. Luckily, I had another source of information.

I managed to get out of Q branch without being noticed. Since I’d given my report everyone assumed I was somewhat superfluous until direct action was necessary. As soon as I was clear of the building I hit a speed dial on my mobile.

“Not a good time James.” John Watson’s voice was clipped and precise more army captain than GP.

“One question then, when did you last see Quentin?”

“Last night. Mycroft crashed our monthly dinner and dragged him off about 22:00. What’s up?”

“Classified.”

“More classified than five dead MPs in a locked room?” John interrupted.

I heard Sherlock’s voice in the background, “Tell him I’ll get a hold of my brother and have him _call home_. Nothing much to worry about. He probably just passed out since he’d only had three or four hours sleep in the last 48 but I just need you to come and look at this now John.”

I heard John snort. “There’s a protocol now.” He told me. “I’ll make sure he uses it to get your wayward tech genius back in contact.”

“Thanks, I owe you a beer and an explanation.” I said as I rang off.

By the time I made it back down to Q branch a tired looking Q was on the video directing his minions in between typing furiously on a keyboard and briefing M on the situation with MI5. I thought I’d been unobtrusive in my entrance but Q stopped in mid-sentence to say “And don’t think that a national emergency gets you off the hook for the destroyed equipment 007!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to correct typo...thanks LizzyBeth14 (on FF.net).


	48. Reinforcing Good Behavior

“Is this what it looks like Q?” 

“I have been informed 007 that the best way to ensure the replication of a desired result, namely getting both you and your equipment back in one piece, is to provide positive reinforcement.”

“But if your goal is having everything returned intact then isn’t giving me an exploding pen counterproductive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 3 sentence fiction that happened while I was doing something completely unrelated.


	49. Changing the Subject

It was 09:00 on Monday as Eve Moneypenny marched into Q-Branch with interrogation on her mind. She spotted Q at his bullpen workstation already deep in some project or other. As she approached she could hear him humming something softly to himself. Good, she thought, she had a decent chance of obtaining the information she sought. 

“Good morning Q,” she said. She paused until she was right up at his desk before adding softly, “So, did your weekend live up to the hype?”

Q stopped humming, glared at her for a moment then spoke. “The quarterly reports are there.” He indicated a stack of paper on the corner of his desk. “I’d like you to remind M when he’s looking for budget savings again that making these electronic would result in a significant reduction in our paper purchases.”

“I will but don’t hold your breath. He’s old school and it isn’t official until it’s printed out on paper somewhere!”

Eve grabbed the indicated paper. Well, she thought as she exited, so much for the direct approach.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

Alec Trevelyan enjoyed sparring with James. It wasn’t so much the physicality, they were quite evenly matched in that department, but more for the banter that occurred. Matching wits whilst attempting to get the upper hand in a fight just seemed to be more satisfying. This Monday morning was no exception. They had already exchanged the usual joking insults and critiqued one another’s moves when Alec decided to obliquely inquire about what had happened after he and Monneypenny had left Q and James in the pub. That proved to be a mistake. James clammed up and Alec found himself fending off a series of increasingly complex attacks that required a good portion of his skill to evade without injury. 

After having been taken down for the third time by a dancelike series of moves Alec had to ask, “What the hell was that James?”

“A Capoeria variant. It’s rather useful when you are already in motion,” he said as he stuck his hand out to help Alec up.

“Show me,” was Alec’s only comment.

00Q/00Q/00Q/00Q

It was late afternoon when Alec met Eve in the hall leading to Q branch. She was delivering something judging by the box she was carrying and he was on his way to pick up equipment for his next mission. They fell into step and entered together.

Q was in his glassed in office overlooking the bullpen floor. 007 was also in the office. They were both looking intently at something on the Quartermaster’s screen. James smoothly moved closer behind Q, very much into his personal space, and pointed at something on the screen. Q nodded and turned his head slightly toward his agent. It was almost too quick to notice but James leaned even closer, whispered something to Q and planted a kiss on his ear. The Quartermaster’s response was just as interesting. He blushed, smiled and elbowed Britain’s most deadly assassin playfully in the ribs.

Alec looked at Moneypenny. “Did you see that?”

“Uh-huh” she replied in the affirmative.

“Damn.”

“Damn?”

“Two reputable witnesses of a public display of affection that means, if I recall correctly, Fred from accounting has won the pool again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you remember Fred from accounting keeps winning the office pools regarding 007 much to the annoyance of his co-workers (See Brothers Three Ch. 7). Some of the rules for this particular office pool are in Chapter 21.
> 
> For those of you who are lamenting the imminent end of this series take heart, I’ve found another list!


	50. Love

It was easy to break into the secure apartment complex. Regardless of the sophistication of high-tech security measures they could often be bypassed by the use of psychology. In this case the simple expedient of asking a resident to _hold the door_ as 007 appeared to struggle with an overly large box did the trick. Accessing the flat itself was even easier, a matter of using an electronic gadget and a code provided by Q.

Once in, James Bond methodically investigated each room. Sitting room, clear; Kitchen, clear; Guest bedroom, clear; Loo, clear; Office, clear. The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar and judging from the soft sounds the flat’s occupant was engaging in a bit of a lie in. Bond carefully and quietly pushed at the door and looked in. He could see an unruly mop of hair protruding from under the covers of a large and comfortable bed.

If anyone had told James that he’d be in this position, especially after what had happened with Tracy and then Vesper, he would have seriously doubted their sanity. Now that he was involved however, he found that he was unusually content. It was liberating to have a true partner in every sense of the word. Someone who understood and accepted the rigors of his job; who had his back every step of the way and who would move heaven and earth to get him back safe. His companion’s safety was not an issue due to the fact that he was one of the most protected persons in the government, his very existence classified at the highest level. It also didn’t hurt that Bond’s lover was very well able to protect himself technologically and physically all on his own.

James smiled. Quickly and quietly he shed his clothes, slipped under the covers and snuggled up behind the smaller man who occupied the bed.

“I’m back,” he whispered into his lover’s soft curls.

His quartermaster responded by turning in his arms, half opening his eyes, smiling up at him and in a sultry voice murmuring “Oh James!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So gentle readers here we are at the end of the list. I'm glad to have had you all along for the ride. Your kudos, comments, questions, follows and bookmarks have been much appreciated. Rest assured that this is not the end of my writings in this 'verse as I have found another list to play with and there are quite a few loose plot bunnies still hopping around. In addition, I will be posting a meta shortly containing the timeline for the entire series so far just so you can see how these snippets fit into the overall scheme of things.
> 
> I'll sign off as always (with apologies to the Bard):
> 
>  
> 
> _If this writer has offended,_  
>  _Think but this and all is mended,_  
>  _That you have but tarried here,_  
>  _While each chapter did appear,_  
>  _And these words upon this theme,_  
>  _Are of no import, only my dream._
> 
>  
> 
> It has been an honor to share my dream with you.
> 
> K2N2


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